Neververse
by Hittosama
Summary: Life is good but life is boring. Two years after the truce between the Foot and the Turtles, nothing interesting ever happens in New York City. Until that night.
1. Que la lumière soit

**A/N: **this is far from my first fanfic but it's actually the third I wrote in English (the 2 others are not on this website due to their content). English is not my first language so you will probably encounter some silly phrasing here and there. Feel free to point them out in a review or PM, that will help me to improve.  
>I usually write in French and give an English title to my chapters but I thought it would be fun to reverse that habit this time. The titles will always be translated at the bottom of each chapter.<br>The story is based on Mirage Comics volume 1 but is technically an AU as the timeline isn't respected. The events takes place nowadays.  
><strong>Beta-reader:<strong> SadoraNortica  
><strong>Rating: M<strong> for adult themes, violence and such.

* * *

><p><strong>Neververse<br>**Chapter 1  
><em>Que la lumière soit<em>

It was green, to begin with, green with a bit of red, and scaly and freaking enormous. Not like in movies where monsters and mutants were the size of a building but still. Anton had been near this thing while they walked it through the corridors, strangely quietly, and it was roughly his height, a little more than five feet four maybe, but wider than a human. And those muscles! This freak could easily tear an arm off if it wanted to, Anton was sure of it. He had kept some distance from it, as much as possible, and he was glad that a bullet-proof one way mirror was between them now.

It looked like a turtle but not quite. It had a thick shell with scars on it. It had scars all over its body, actually, even on its face, and the recent injuries would probably leave some fresh ones. Its wounds stopped bleeding at some points but they were still red. "Don't touch my blood," it had said. It didn't give any reason but Anton wasn't too keen to touch it anyway. Maybe the blood was poisonous or corrosive like a Xenomorph's. It didn't look like a Xenomorph. It was a human-size turtle, walking like a human and speaking like a human.

It didn't speak much, though, and it was as silent as a tomb since it had sat in the room behind the glass, chains around its wrists and ankles, all of it solidly attached to the table and the concrete. And it was still, so still it looked like some grotesque prop for a movie. _Invasion of the giant turtles_ would have been a good title for an 80's movie featuring those freaks. There was four of them, more or less alike, big, green and wounded. Four giant turtles, speaking English, coming out of nowhere. The poor bastard who had to face the press at some point would have a hard time, no doubt about it. Unfortunately, Anton Bianco was that poor bastard.

Anton jumped when the door slammed open, the big boss storming in, in civil clothes, sleep in his eyes and his short gray hair. It was four in the morning and he must have been comfortably in bed not long ago. Anton was the night liaison officer that day; he didn't have the pleasure to be woken up by a phone call, sounding like a prank. Giant turtles in the streets of New York! No wonder why the captain Sullivan seemed so devastated.

He didn't acknowledge Anton or the other curious policemen in the small room, his eyes automatically attracted by the monster on the other side of the window. Sullivan stared for a long minute at the still green figure and had a small laugh, the crazy kind. Anton knew what it was. There have been rumors about green freaks in New York for the past few years but it came from junkies, homeless people and low scums. Nobody had paid any attention to their delirious warnings – green aliens kicking butts with kung-fu, yeah, sure. The joke's on us, Anton thought.

"Does it talk?" Sullivan asked. His voice was nervous and hoarse. He was sweating despite the air conditioning.

"It did earlier," Thompson answered. He was the officer in charge when they got the call about the strange activities in a warehouse located in Red Hook. Thompson had entered the force right after high school, a millennium ago it seemed. He had seen a lot of crap in his life but tonight was too much for him. He looked pale for a black guy.

"Can we talk to it now?" Sullivan added. "Is it safe?" Nobody answered. Nobody knew. It had had weapons and it had seemed ready to fight for its life earlier but now it looked quiet, almost peaceful but for the strong determination on its face. Its white eyes didn't help. "What did it say?" Sullivan asked when he realized nobody would answer him. Thompson took a notebook from his pocket and searched for the last written page.

"They talk between themselves at first," Thompson said, "in Chinese or something like that. Then, this one got in the front and held his hands up. 'Don't shoot, we surrender', it said. It had a New York accent." Sullivan glanced over his shoulder at the strange detail but it didn't take him long to realize how fucked up Thompson was at this point. The Old Tom could only rely on his notes for now if he wanted to keep his head straight. Sullivan encouraged him to continue. "One of them was barely conscious and it's still recovering, for what I know. They protested when they got separated but this one told the others to 'shut it down' and they obeyed."

"So it's some sort of alpha male or something?" Sullivan asked.

The turtle snorted with a little shrug behind the bullet-proof glass. The crowd in the room froze instantly. It couldn't hear them, right? It must have been a coincidence. But something told Anton that the turtle had heard them indeed. And it looked at them through the way mirror, as impossible as it seemed.

"Screw it," Sullivan mumbled. "I'm going in."

Some policemen tried to make their chief listen to reason but the old man stormed out, disappeared a second in the corridor and opened the door in the little gray room behind the glass. The turtle didn't move. Sullivan didn't at first either. He stayed by the door, ten feet from the alien creature. He just had decided to come closer when the turtle turned its head to face him. Sullivan hesitated but had to make a point: he wasn't afraid of this freak. He shouldn't have been, at least, and he had to show it. He walked to the window, stared at it for a second, as if he wanted to be sure he couldn't see through it, then turned to face the turtle. It moved its right hand to present the chair on the other side of the table welded to the floor, the chains clinging along on the metal.

"Please, sit down," the turtle offered. "You have nothing to fear from me. If I wanted you dead, it would be done already."

Sullivan straightened his back, trying very much like an animal to look bigger in front of its opponent. The turtle, with its stillness and its confidence, seemed more human than Sullivan at this moment and it made Anton uncomfortable.

"You're enchained, boy," Sullivan pointed out.

"Yeah, right," the turtle smirked.

Sullivan hesitated another second before sitting down but he was obviously ready to jump to the door if needed. "What the Hell are you?" he asked out of the blue.

The turtle had the smallest smile, amused. Anton had the impression it was going to recite a story prepared since long especially for this day. "My name is Leonardo," the turtle said. "My brothers and I made a wrong turn somewhere."

* * *

><p>The soccer ball flew directly into the dōjō and Leonardo knew at the exact same time it would be on him. They heard the ball hit the staffs rack, the weapons falling on the concrete, the metallic bō before the wooden kind with a marvelous uproar. A fairly tensed silence took its time to make them regret their game. Leonardo exchanged a look with his brothers. Raphael, resigned, already knew they were in for some extra training but Michelangelo and Donatello still hoped Splinter was in a too deep trance to have noticed the material world. Those two hated extra training, even if one of them was often the reason for added push-ups or back-flips. Leonardo tried to reassure them with a confident smile but he lost his grin when he heard Splinter's voice calling his name. Leonardo composed himself and walked to the dōjō through the living room and the small corridor.<p>

Splinter had been a lot on his shell lately. For most of their time on Earth, Splinter had blamed Michelangelo more than the others for every little thing, sometimes even when it wasn't his fault, but it seemed to be over. Leonardo was now responsible for his brothers' missteps, all of them. If Donatello overslept because he went to bed at an indecent hour, it was Leonardo's fault. If Raphael was in a bad mood for a reason or another, it was Leonardo's fault. If Michelangelo played too much video games, it was Leonardo's fault. Even the recent broken pipe in the dōjō and the subsequent flooding seemed to be on Leonardo.

It was alright, he could deal with this kind of pressure, at least for now. Leonardo knew he would have to echo Splinter's newest expectations on his brothers at some point to even their behavior but he was pretty sure he could wait a little more. He didn't want to live like a monk, always calm and silent like Splinter had been recently. They were almost twenty, full of energy and tired of being confined in the sewers. Sure, they were authorized to go out, even to the surface, but they had to come back eventually. Sometimes, home felt like a prison.

Leonardo knelt before Splinter. The old rat was in his usual spot, at an end of the dōjō in some sort of a comfortable alcove full of cushions from where he supervised training. Candles were lit around him and one insured his tea-pot stayed warm. He looked old. It wasn't the first time Leonardo spotted it, after all Splinter had always looked old, but his master's fur had more and more white in lately and his body seemed stiffer than before. Leonardo didn't know how old Splinter was exactly. He didn't want to know.

"What did I tell you about ball games inside, Leonardo?" Splinter asked with a tired voice.

"We were just...", Leonardo tried but Splinter interrupted him.

"What did I tell you about ball games inside?" he repeated sharply.

"You forbade it."

It was no use to explain that Raphael had found the old soccer ball in the other room, the one where he, Donatello, and Michelangelo kept all their finds. He had thrown the ball at his brothers and their game had been under control for a while but the ball eventually landed in the living room. Leonardo then entered the game, even if soccer was a stupid sport, and he had been sure everything would be fine – they were highly trained ninja, after all, totally capable of managing a ball with just their feet –, until the ball had hit the microwave and flown to the dōjō. He should have known better. If things could get worse, they did, especially for them.

"And you played inside nonetheless," Splinter continued. "We have rules for a reason, Leonardo."

"I know, sensei."

"Do not interrupt me." Leonardo bowed his head and didn't try to look at his master after. It wouldn't help and he was in for a lecture anyway. "You may think our indoor rules do not have anything to do with our survival," Splinter started, "but it is crucial for you and your brothers to know how to obey and behave. If you let your brothers do what they want inside, in the safety of our home, what will happen outside? Your teamwork depends on their obedience. You have to control them."

Leonardo didn't agree on this point but he knew better than starting an argument with Splinter on the subject. For now, he just had to let the storm flow. It was just a harsh rain but it could easily become hail if Leonardo said anything that didn't please Splinter. So he kept his head down and listened to the usual "you are the leader and have responsibilities" speech. Splinter used it often lately. Leonardo hated what it implied.

Splinter sighted eventually. Leonardo noticed it only because his master stopped his lecture before the end. "You are not listening," Splinter reproached him.

"I am, sensei."

"Do not lie to me, Leonardo. Speak your mind if you need to but do not give me this attitude. You are highly disrespectful at the moment."

"You know what I think, sensei," Leonardo answered. "I do not believe always being on my brothers' asses helps."

"Watch your language, young man."

Leonardo scowled. "I can't boss them around all the time, sensei. They need to relax at some point. I'm sorry we disturbed you with our game and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again but, sensei, it was just a stupid ball."

"They need to be more serious," Splinter counters, "and so do you."

"I am serious."

"Not at this time. You have been preoccupied lately."

"Jeez, I wonder why." Leonardo regretted what he said immediately but it was too late. Splinter looked down at him, his eyes cold as ice. Excuses wouldn't help now.

"Get out," Splinter ordered, "and do not come back until you have cleared your head."

"Yes, sensei," Leonardo mumbled before bowing. He avoided eye contact and walked to the dōjō entrance. His brothers were aligned in the corridor leading to the living room, of course. They would have intervened if things had turned bad, Leonardo knew it. They were a team after all. If one of them got into trouble, they didn't hesitate to help him. Leonardo smiled at his brothers to reassure them. It wasn't that bad. He would have to apologize to Splinter later and behave accordingly for a few days, no big deal. "Come on," Leonardo whispered, "let's go to the surface to blow some steam off."

"It's still daytime," Donatello reminded him. Leonardo shrugged. He didn't care and he knew his brothers didn't mind either. Daytime was a much bigger challenge, after all.

* * *

><p>It was one of those days where nothing was right. It had started with the clogged bathtub, something Casey had promised to fix days ago. Every mug April could put her hand on had been greasy. The milk had expired. They had forgotten to buy new coffee filters. Casey hadn't taken the trash out the previous day. The cat had pooped in the plants again. Shadow had wet her bed because Casey hadn't put her in a night diaper. April slammed the door as she left the apartment.<p>

New York could be a pretty lonely place for someone like her. April had few friends in the city and most of them lived under the surface. She would have run to the Turtles, if their daily routine had started earlier. They never were awake before noon and then it was time for training and lessons until the evening. Splinter didn't like when their daily routine was interrupted but he generally let his students free for the night. April had wanted the sun to set badly.

She had killed time with some window shopping in the morning and it turned out quite frustrating. She didn't have the kind of money to clear her head with impulsive buying. Sure, they weren't poor but they had to save for the taxes at the end of the year. Owning a building was pretty expensive. Casey also wanted to save some money for Shadow, for later, for college. That was a nice thing to do for his daughter but April would have liked Casey to find at least a part-time job to finance his dream.

She could find a job to get out of the apartment, she thought during her afternoon at the cinema. The rents she collected from the building were enough to make a living but it wasn't about money. She always was inside, with Casey and Shadow, not seeing anyone but four green teenagers who liked pizza and fist fights too much. It wasn't the best environment. She loved her boys, and she loved Casey and Shadow, but she needed more than them in her life. She would be thirty-two next fall and April felt like she didn't have a life at all.

She did have some adventures a few years ago but the city was at peace now. The truce between the Foot and the Turtles prevented pretty much anything crazy that could have happened. The worst situation April had had to face recently was Michelangelo's disappearance last Halloween – three days of nightmares. Leonardo and Raphael had been unbearable with their big brothers act and Donatello almost went crazy with his search through every camera in the city. He had seen things, he'd said later with his terrible blank face. It turned out the little pervert had found a girl not afraid of him and they had fucked for most of those three days. Of course, he had lost his cellphone somewhere during Halloween's night and he hadn't think to call his brothers to reassure them. Michelangelo had been grounded until Easter, forbidden to go out without supervision.

April spent some time in a coffee shop with a book borrowed from the nearest library. She waited until seven to text Donatello. She would have liked to write something like "need friends" but that would only bring questions. Donatello never was a fan of Casey and April didn't want to hear him listing again why that brain-dead hairy monkey wasn't a good life partner for her. Donatello had been kind of an ass lately with Casey but it was April's fault. She shouldn't have told him she had troubles in her relationship. A teenager couldn't help her, even if said teenager often killed time with virtual dates through adult chat rooms. Too often. April probably should tell Leonardo about his brother's hobby but she wasn't sure he would do anything about it. It would make him laugh, probably.

"Want pizza?" April wrote and hit the 'send' button. Simple, efficient, no subtext. Perfect. Donatello responded almost immediately, which was strange because they usually finished training at eight. "I like when you talk dirty to me, girl", the text said. Yep, April was going to tell Leonardo about Donatello's flirting sessions. His answer made her smile anyway.

"Naughty boy. Your place?" This could lead to questions but Donatello didn't catch the subtext.

"Uh, not a good idea. Rat situation, I'll tell you later. Is your place okay? We'll clean after, don't worry." April hesitated a minute and a new text from Donatello arrived in between: "Raph wants beer," it said. Of course he did. Splinter didn't allow alcohol in the lair but the boys had developed a taste for it. Raphael and Michelangelo usually drank a bottle each while Donatello and Leonardo shared one. It was never enough for them to get drunk and it wasn't often so April let them have their little secret. They needed it. That wasn't exactly good parenting but she had been a teenager herself and she knew freedom was important at this age. It was better to let them drink once in a while under control than letting them do God knows what just for the thrill of breaking rules. They tended to do that too often already.

Several texts later, the beer's brand and the pizzas' toppings were decided and April headed back home. She stopped by the grocery store to buy the beer, some sodas, popcorn and candies before the pizza place and ended up with her hands full at the door of the building. Fortunately, she lived on the first floor and didn't have to carry all of it up stairs but she had to struggle a little with the apartment's door anyway. Casey was in the kitchen, feeding Shadow. He didn't say a word but his eyes spoke for him. April put the pizzas in the oven and the beer in the fridge before telling him the guys would be there in a moment. Casey shrugged and April disappeared in the bedroom.

Someone knocked at her door ten minutes later and April immediately knew it was Donatello. He was more delicate than his brothers and he usually waited to be allowed to enter before risking a look inside. April closed her book and jumped out of bed to welcome him with a kiss on the cheek. Donatello hugged her back, his hand very light on the middle of her back. She knew they all paid attention not to hurt their fragile human friends, even if they could be pretty brutal between them. There wasn't a day without a punch, or something else, thrown at a brother with them. It was generally between Raphael and Leonardo or Raphael and Michelangelo but even Donatello could use force against his brothers occasionally. Non-violence prevailed, though. Donatello was kind of a utopian, believing everybody could listen to reason and use some brain and logic. Poor kid.

"You look tired," he said, his hand still on April's back.

She tried to give him a convincing smile. "Bad day, is all." Donatello turned his head just a little to indicate the light from the living room. That meant Casey. Donatello suspected something, of course. April couldn't fool him long, he knew her too well, so she decided to gross him out to avoid any further question. "My uterus is killing me," she said with a smirk. Donatello retreated at a respectful distance, hands in the air, as if she was contagious. April couldn't help but laugh.

They got out of the room and found Casey on their way to the kitchen, Shadow in his arms, heading for the child's bedroom. The little girl was calling for her uncle Mikey but Casey seemed pretty determined to put his daughter to bed. It was eight already, bedtime for the two year old.

"Donatello," Casey saluted coldly. Said Donatello merely nodded to acknowledge Casey's presence. "Could you guys go outside?" Casey asked. "Shadow has to sleep."

"With pleasure," Donatello responded. Casey frowned and April poked Donatello in the arm. "It's such a lovely night," he added innocently then walked to the kitchen where his brothers were certainly raiding the fridge already. April would have liked to avoid speaking to Casey but he grabbed her by the arm.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, concern in his voice.

You didn't fix the bathtub, April thought, but it seemed to be a pretty ridiculous reason to disappear an entire day. "I needed some air," April confessed.

"Air, huh? You could've called me or something, I was worried, y'know?"

"You didn't call either."

Casey frowned and shook his head. "Say goodnight to April, sweetheart," he told Shadow and the little girl complied before asking if uncle Mikey could read her a story. Casey said no and closed the bedroom's door behind him, leaving April in the dark. It was just a bad day, she kept repeating herself as she walked to the kitchen, nothing of importance. April composed herself and could wear a smile on her face when she welcomed the other Turtles. Each of them gave her a kiss on the cheek and Raphael bragged a little because he was now the only one who had to bend down for that. They all had grown up in the past years but Raphael had taken the lead recently. He almost was five feet seven when his brothers stagnated around five feet four. April was just glad they didn't have their eyes at breast-height anymore.

They took all of their victuals and went for the rooftop. From there, they had to climb on a taller building to avoid being seen from above and they made sure the door to the roof was locked. There was their usual spot, hidden between cooling towers. The fans' buzzing was a little loud but it was still better than standing in plain sight.

Leonardo took a twenty from a pocket at his belt and gave it to April without a word. The thought was good, even if he didn't have to pay her back. Money wasn't really a problem for them. They occasionally found bills on the pavement and used them only for their pizza when they ordered "old style" – but many restaurants now accepted payment through the Internet. They didn't have to pay for groceries as they usually found what they needed in the dumpsters of the city and Donatello had an online bank account in case they needed something specific that they could buy on the Internet. April knew some of his money came from donations – he had created some software and he also was an active member of the Linux community – but that couldn't possibly cover the expenses of his new servers delivered at April's each month. She had no idea what all this hardware was for but she certainly suspected some illegal activities to get that kind of money. Knowing Donatello, he was probably virtually robbing banks, one cent at a time, or investing in some stock options. It was equally possible with Donatello, depending on his boredom.

"How come you guys were out so early?" April asked, taking a slice of the less crazy pizza they had. The Turtles exchanged a look between them. That meant Splinter had thrown them out. "Guys, what did you do this time?" April sighed.

"Nothing!" Michelangelo claimed, offended. "We were meditating, like any other normal day and stuff, I swear!"

"With a soccer ball," Raphael smirked.

"Duh, it was obvious, I said any day!"

"We were supposed to meditate," Leonardo corrected, "and we got distracted, that's all."

"Usually, Splinter gives you extra training from Hell for that," April remembered.

"Yes, yes he does," Michelangelo nodded vigorously. "My thighs still hurt from last week's session."

"Mine too," Donatello mumbled. Leonardo poked him on the thigh and Donatello slapped his brother's hand, not amused by his mocking gesture. "I remember you suffering from cramps all night so please, don't patronize me, brother."

"I'm not," Leonardo laughed. He opened a bottle of beer and gave it to Donatello as a peace offering. Donatello frowned a little but still accepted the beer. He took a sip before giving the bottle back to Leonardo. The guys could be real assholes to each other from time to time but they also shared some cute little moments like this one. It made April smile a little.

"And you went topside before nightfall," she noted. "That's risky."

"C'mon, April," Raphael grunted, "we're big turtles now, we know what we're doing."

"We were careful, don't worry," Leonardo added. "Besides, Don has this scrambler thingy for cameras." Between him and her, Donatello rolled his eyes.

"A scrambler?" April repeated.

"Well, technically, it's a WiFi scrambler," Donatello explained as he popped out a small black plastic box from his belt. "Most of the video surveillance cameras nowadays are connected to their server via WiFi, it's more economical and easier to install than kilometers of wire everywhere. Those cameras just watch, they don't have an internal memory for recording. So, if the WiFi lags or is interrupted, no footage is saved on the servers. This scrambler connects itself to every WiFi spots around and overloads the bandwidth to prevent the cameras from sending anything and tadaaa! No footage of ninja Turtles."

"Yeah, what he said," Michelangelo smiled, his mouth full of pizza.

"Okay big guy, you got me on this one," April admitted, "but not all cameras in the city are wireless. And what do you do for cellphones, hmm?"

"Take a picture of us," Donatello proposed with a confident grin. April took her phone from her back pocket. When she looked again at the guys, they already were all together in position, smiling like big dorks. April was definitively using that picture as her wallpaper from now on, screw security and caution. She hit the camera button, the flash briefly illuminated the brothers, but all she got on her screen was black.

"The scrambler?" she asked.

"Yep," Donatello responded as he sat back at his place, proud of himself. "It works in a one hundred meters radius, though, and the battery doesn't allow us much time out but, you know, we're ninjas and all so it's okay."

"And the wired cameras?" April insisted.

"I've got a software running for that," Donatello started to explain but Raphael interrupted him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're a genius, we know, stop bragging."

"That's rich coming from you," Donatello replied. Raphael threw him a gummy bear on the head but Donatello didn't bother to catch it, staring at his brother for several seconds before digging aggressively into the pop-corn.

"Casey seemed pretty pissed," Michelangelo said to change the subject. "You guys had a fight or something?"

April stopped her motion and immediately felt four inquisitorial looks on her. Breathing suddenly became harder when Raphael gave her his full attention. It was so obvious she didn't want to talk about it that Michelangelo apologized, his big blue eyes traveling from her to the ground multiple times. "Sorry, not my business."

"It's okay," April said with a poor smile, playing with her soda can. "It's just a bad day."

"I should have brought my bad day blanket," Michelangelo joked. April welcomed the diversion.

"A big guy like you has a bad day blanket?"

"Yep!"

"It's pink with white bunnies on it," Leonardo smirked. "Well, it was, back in the day."

"It's more beige now," Donatello confirmed. "And it stinks."

"It's more beige now," Michelangelo repeated mockingly on a high speech tone. "Dude, you're just jealous of my blanky."

"I never had to rely on a blanket, or a teddy bear, for comfort," Donatello replied. Raphael winced.

"Nah, you ran to Leo for that," he retorted sharply behind his bottle of beer.

"See, April, I'm having a bad day too," Donatello sighed, falsely resigned. "We should start a club."

"With blanket forts!" Michelangelo shot. "Everything is so much better with blanket forts."

"Bad Day and Blanket Forts Anonymous," Leonardo resumed. "Where do I sign up?"

"More like Depressed Anonymous," Raphael snorted. "C'mon, cheer up, Fearless. It ain't the first time Splinter got mad at us for a stupid reason and it ain't gonna be the last." April appreciated that Raphael didn't include her in his bad attempt to light up the mood. He was Casey's best friend and he had had a hard time accepting the couple his two human friends had made but now he was comfortable with the situation. If April and Casey broke up, it would make things complicated and awkward again.

"I know," Leonardo said, lost in his thought for a second and April knew he had a lot on his mind at the moment too. He couldn't talk freely about it, though, not to his brothers. The boys weren't comfortable with sharing their inner struggles. It had taken them a full winter to accept their defeat against the Foot Clan some years ago and the rest of the year to rebuild their confidence and team. However, Splinter had been alongside them in this difficult moment. Now, the master seemed to be giving the prodigal son a hard time. April hadn't often seen Splinter lately, even if the old rat was fond of the little Shadow and came to the apartment to see her on a regular basis, and he had been preoccupied each time. April knew why: his students were too cocky and reckless lately, too confident. That wasn't a good mix with secrecy.

She probably should talk to Leonardo. He would listen to her concerns more willingly than to Splinter's, even if the ideas were the same. Leonardo considered her as a sister, not as a parental figure. Her advices would be more welcome than Splinter's.

"Anyway," Leonardo sighted, "it's a bad day, not the end of the world. We should be grateful to live another day, even if it sucks."

"Amen to that," Michelangelo agreed, raising his bottle of beer. Raphael, Leonardo and April clanged their respective drink all together and Donatello mimicked them with his scrambler. They didn't talk again about those subjects for the rest of the evening and it felt good. April was in a much better mood when they started to collect their trash, part from the alcohol and part from all the stupid things they had talked about. Sometimes, hanging out with the guys reminded her of college, when she smoked pot and drank alcohol all night long with her roommate and her girlfriend, while coding programs for the morning classes. April kind of wanted to see her boys under the influence for good, at least once. She was certain it would help Leonardo to relax but Raphael would have to be well guided for this kind of experience with his temper. A bad trip wasn't a good experience and she was pretty sure it could become a nightmare with one hundred kilograms of turtle well known for not being optimistic.

It was out of the question anyway because Splinter would probably scold her for days and she wasn't eager to endure that. April was on good terms with the old master, she somehow considered him as a father figure since the death of her dad and he was always there for her when she needed advice. Maybe she had to talk to Splinter about her matrimonial situation but it seemed awkward. Splinter was a rat and he never had had a lady in his life, to April's knowledge – just thinking of it was weird and kind of disgusting, actually, like imagining her parents having sex. How could he help her if he had no experience at all in relationships? He wasn't some sort of wise monk who had an answer for each question, he was just a big rat struggling to temper his adoptive sons' attitude. He had enough on his plate already, April thought while Raphael and Michelangelo fought loudly over the last pizza slice.

They jumped on April's building's roof and took the stairs to go to the first floor, absolutely serious and silent, as if someone had activated a switch somewhere. They kept quiet when they entered the apartment, knowing that Shadow was asleep, and cleaned as promised. Donatello even proposed to take the trash out on their way because Casey hadn't done it yet. April suddenly felt the urge to cry, her good mood blown away. Before she knew it, Donatello, Michelangelo and Raphael got out of the kitchen and Leonardo had taken her in his soft embrace, his arms just pressed enough around her to make her felt protected but not crushed.

"It's okay," he whispered gently at her hear. "Please, don't do that to yourself, dear April. You can share your troubles with us. That's what family is for, right?" April nodded, her eyes burning from tears. Leonardo put a lock of her red hair away, his gesture more tender than any of Casey's lately. "We have lots of blankets if you need to retreat to a fort," he added and April laughed a little. She passed her arms around Leonardo's neck to hug him back. He didn't exactly smell good but his scent was comforting. "Actually, I'd let you sleep on my bed and I'd take the couch," he said pensively. "I think we still have a fresh set of sheets, somewhere, if Don didn't burn it with his soap experiments."

"That's a serious offer if you are willing to change the sheets," April laughed.

"I am serious indeed. You are always welcome in our home."

"What about Splinter?"

"What about him?" Leonardo grunted.

"Maybe he doesn't want a feminine presence to distract his young students."

"Nah it's okay, we don't pay attention to your female attributes anymore."

"Female attributes?" April repeated, amused. She had to put an end to the hug to meet Leonardo's gaze.

"Some of my brothers would have chosen a different vocabulary," he admitted.

"Speaking of," Michelangelo interrupted from the living room, "you got mail, Leo."

The warm and brotherly Leonardo disappeared in a second, becoming someone cold and focused again. Splinter didn't have to worry about his sons' seriousness, April thought while following the Turtle to the living room. They may be searching for action and thrill but they were well aware of the dangers surrounding them.

Leonardo delicately took the letter and smelled it from a distance. It seemed too light to contain any explosive but a volatile poisonous powder couldn't be ruled out. Leonardo inspected the envelop for a minute before opening it with caution. It contained only a sheet of paper with kanji written on it. April knew two groups speaking Japanese around: the Turtles and the Foot. Leonardo frowned as he read the letter then looked at the mural clock behind him in the kitchen.

"Shit," he hissed for himself before addressing to his brothers. "Karai wants to see us tonight at one AM. She says she needs our help."

"Ain't that practical," Raphael grunted. "I don't trust the bitch and I ain't gonna walk in her smelly Feet trap."

"We have a truce with the Foot Clan," Donatello reminded his brother. "We should at least listen to what she has to say, with extra caution." One point for each team. Leonardo turned his attention to Michelangelo.

"I don't trust her either," he admitted, "but Donnie's right. The truce stipulates we have to help each other in case of great need or something like that."

"Then it's decided," Leonardo concluded. "And yes, we will be careful," he added before Raphael, visibly not agreeing with this decision, could say anything. Leonardo then turned to April and smiled at her. "I'm sorry April, we gotta go. I can call Splinter if you want to..."

"No, it's okay," April interrupted. "You will be very careful, guys, right?"

"We will," Leonardo confirmed. He kissed her goodbye on the cheek then walked to the kitchen to jump by the window into the backstreet alley. Raphael and Michelangelo did the same, with more or less enthusiasm, then Donatello took his turn but he held out his cheek for April to kiss it instead of the other way around. She obliged, amused by his childish selfishness, and Donatello hugged her back.

"I'll text you when we get home, okay?" he offered.

"You better do that or I'll kick your green ass, young man."

"I might consider that offer seriously," Donatello smirked. "You know I like my butt being kicked, especially by a pretty woman." April laughed and let go of Donatello who followed his brothers. He was half-way through the window when he froze, got back on the linoleum, took the trash under the sink, waved goodbye and jumped effortlessly outside. She closed the window behind him with a sigh and headed for the couch in the living room.

* * *

><p>It was twenty past one when the Turtles stopped on the edge of a rooftop dominating the rendez-vous point. Leonardo didn't bother to hide, Karai knew they were coming, but he took a minute to observe the scene from above nonetheless. Karai was standing, looking around, her back at Leonardo at the moment. He could see five Foot soldiers but Donatello, scanning with his infrared binoculars, told him five more men were nearby. Ten guys weren't a problem for them if they could put some of them down quietly but they wouldn't have this opportunity. Knowing Karai, she had chosen well trained soldiers, if not elites, and that would be a difficult battle if the Turtles had to face them without a little bit of preparation.<p>

"I'll go first," Leonardo decided. "Mike, you'll be my backup and we'll deal with Karai and her guards. Raph and Don, you'll have to take down the others around, from a distance would be the best."

"Then we'll come to help you," Donatello added. Leonardo nodded and smiled to his brothers.

"I bet you my money we won't have to fight, tho." Raphael grunted, still not convinced by Karai's words, but he didn't say a word as they parted. Leonardo landed without a sound and rolled to a deep shadow, unseen. He evaded the attention of a hidden Foot but soon had to walk out of the shadows. Karai's guards were surprised to see him so deep into their formation already but the kunoichi seemed more amused than anything else. She knew how talented the Turtles were and she would never underestimate them. It would have been a stupid thing to do.

"Leonardo," she greeted him with a nod. She still had a little bit of Japanese accent and didn't pronounce the r like an American. A kunoichi of her level was perfectly able to fake any kind of accent but that wasn't necessary between them. Leonardo didn't make any effort in his pronunciation when they were speaking Japanese after all.

"Karai," he responded the same way. "Sorry for being late, we got your letter only an hour ago."

"The Post is really not efficient in this country. I sent it three days ago." Leonardo smiled a little, knowing Karai's tricky sense of humor. They had meet for practice a dozen of times since the beginning of their truce and they knew each other a little. None of them had wanted to tell too much about them but they had revealed glimpses of their respective lives while sparring. Karai knew Leonardo was the only one to like pistachio ice cream in his family. He knew Karai had had a cat named Hiyoko when she was a kid. It really wasn't crucial information.

"Where are your brothers?" Karai inquired. Leonardo shrugged. She rolled her eyes at the unnecessary precautions. It wasn't a trap, Leonardo was sure of it now. Well, as much as paranoia authorized it.

"So, what happened?" he asked as he came closer to the kunoichi.

"Six of my men have been attacked."

"I don't recall kicking your soldiers' butts recently." Even with the truce, the Turtles occasionally fought the Foot. The clan still had thieves and scums in its ranks, even if Karai's goal was to have a legit business, so Leonardo and his brothers had the pleasure to right the wrong from time to time among Karai's side kicks.

"I know you stupid teenagers didn't do it," Karai snorted. "My men were eaten."

"Yep, definitely not us," Leonardo confirmed. He was surprised though. Unless a new gang of cannibals was in town, it seemed hardly believable. "What did the bites look like?" Karai took her cellphone from a pocket to show Leonardo. The jaw line was short and wide, the teeth marks were profound and dirty and the skin around had turned black with clear signs of infection. What the Hell, Leonardo thought.

"You don't know what caused that either," Karai realized. "Where is the smart one?"

"I doubt Donatello will know," Leonardo admitted but he signaled the gathering. His brothers arrived shortly after, making the guards nervous. Freshmen, Leonardo understood. Few of the Foot knew their existence after all and Leonardo had to admit his appearance could easily impress someone.

Donatello stared at the screen for a long minute while Raphael tried to appear more dangerous than he was. "I've never seen that," the resident genius said, "but I'm no expert. Animals and stuff aren't my field." Michelangelo looked over his shoulder, standing on tiptoe.

"A croc bite?" he offered.

"It would be longer and with a U shape in the end," Donatello nodded. As he pointed the details on the screen, his finger touched it and swept the picture. Donatello and Michelangelo arched an eye ridge in unison but Karai took her phone back before they could have a good look.

"You have a mutant alligator friend," she said sharply. "I want you to go ask him some questions."

"Didn't your mama teach you to say 'please'?" Raphael grunted. Karai gave him a cold look but he wasn't impressed at all. She was smaller than April and leaner too. They all knew Karai was a serious opponent but they now had their weight and height as advantages against her. Karai wasn't stupid and had made the same conclusion during her secret meetings with Leonardo. She wouldn't pick a fight against any of them if it wasn't necessary but she still had to be respected. Unfortunately for her, Raphael didn't respect a lot of people and she wasn't one of the Chosen Ones.

"We'll go talk to Leatherhead," Leonardo promised as he waved to his brother to calm down. "Don, do you know where he is?"

"I haven't seen nor called him since last fall. He's not very active during winter."

"Maybe he went to Florida," Michelangelo mused. "Why don't we go to Florida for winters? Don't get me wrong, I love the snow and stuff, but the floods in the sewers? Nope, no thank you."

"What would we do with Master Splinter?" Donatello asked, his focus already lost to Michelangelo's silly idea. Leonardo had to glance at them to make them stop talking. Karai seemed a little baffled by the brothers' dynamic. She hadn't dealt with the four of them at once since their team-up against the Shredder's elite and the Turtles had been more focused at the time. They had been younger, less confident in their capacities. Leonardo knew Donatello and Michelangelo would be as serious as needed at the right time but he was still a little annoyed by their attitude and he knew why: he wanted to impress Karai. Bad habit of his, driven by youth, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to see envy in her black eyes.

"We'll find Leatherhead and ask him some questions," Leonardo insured once more. Karai nodded and was about to go on her way when an eleventh soldier arrived on the rooftop, causing the Turtles to draw their weapons out of surprise. The sudden adrenaline rush electrified Leonardo. He knew instinctively he had to go on his left to take down the four soldiers there, startled for now but soon to be ready for battle themselves. Donatello would follow him and go around to the right to rejoin Michelangelo while Raphael would attack Karai directly. That was a good plan, he just had to give the order to attack quickly but Karai roared to her men to stay down. Leonardo didn't move, surprised by her command. She slowly turned to face him and looked at him in the eyes.

"This is not what you think it is, Leonardo," Karai calmly asserted.

"Yeah right," Raphael growled, sais already in hands.

"Shut up, Raph," Leonardo hissed. "Explain yourself, Karai." She waved at the new entrant to approach and he did it with caution, making a big detour to avoid being near Donatello and his bō staff, ready to strike. The soldier whispered something into Karai's ear that Leonardo could barely hear but he understood what was going on when he saw the kunoichi's expression hardening. Another attack. "Where?" Leonardo asked as the soldier withdrew to a safe distance.

"A warehouse in Red Hook, on Gowanus Canal," Karai said. Leonardo sheathed his katanas. Red Hook was a few blocks south but they had to cross the expressway to get to the canal. Low structures, lots of people around.

"Send me the address and tell your men we'll be there in ten minutes," Leonardo ordained. He didn't wait for an answer and took the lead, his brothers following him with a little bit of reluctance. Raphael spoke his mind when they were sure Karai's soldiers weren't following them.

"You know we're going straight to a trap, right?" he asked, acid as ever.

"Would be a pretty elaborate trap then," Leonardo responded. He landed easily on a flange of a roof and kept running. Donatello accelerated on his left to get to his level.

"She has your number," he said coldly. Leonardo tried to smile at his brother but Donatello wasn't going to let that one slip by. He wanted an explanation.

"Don't be jealous," Leonardo joked to avoid the confrontation.

"I am not jealous, you stupid idiot," Donatello snapped. "It's a question of security. She can trace your cellphone and know your position at any time if she has your number, dammit!" Such colorful language from Donatello was a clear indication of his disappointment. Leonardo knew he shouldn't have been amused but he couldn't help it. Donatello saw his smile and clouted him on the shoulder.

"Karai knows where we live," Michelangelo resumed. He had to catch Raphael's arm to slow him down and avoid a fratricide.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Leo?" Raphael howled.

"Keep your voice down," Leonardo ordered. "We're ninjas, remember? Besides, it's been years and she never tried anything. Isn't it the proof Karai can be trusted?"

"Do you have her number?" Donatello asked before Raphael could find something else to yell at his brother.

"'course I have it." They had exchanged their phone numbers to facilitate their trainings. It wasn't like they were texting or calling each other all the time. Sure, Leonardo often flirted with Karai when he was asking for a meeting but it was more to disconcert her than anything else. Karai had been clear on the subject anyway. She had no interest in a teenager the age of her lost daughter.

"Why did she send a letter to April's?" Donatello carried on.

"It's the... huh, official channel," Leonardo assumed. Karai had to keep their meetings secret too so she had had to contact Leonardo the only way the Foot Clan knew how and that was through April's mailbox. "Look, guys," Leonardo sighed, "now is not a good time for that. I'll explain later, I promise."

"You better, bro," Michelangelo said. It wasn't a threat, just a simple statement, but it sounded like it to Leonardo's ears. His brothers would know, fine, but they wouldn't tell Splinter about Karai. If their master knew, Leonardo would have to seriously consider this Florida option as a permanent residence.

Smith Street was made of low buildings and warehouses but was practically uninhabited. The Turtles stopped on top of the storehouse in front of the address Karai had sent. It was made of old sheet metal, rusted where the gutters had broken, the gray paint slowly peeling off, attacked by the salt of the nearby sea. Some plants had pierced the sidewalk around, giving an "end of the road" look to the place. The streetlights weren't all working, giving them a lot of space to progress on the ground. Nobody around. They jumped down to the street, silent as shadows.

Leonardo and Donatello went left while Raphael and Michelangelo took the right. They circled the warehouse made of four buildings attached together, one of them giving directly on the canal. Karai's men were nowhere to be seen but the smell coming from inside couldn't trick the Turtles. Fresh blood. They were most likely all dead already.

They found a door on the southern side of the warehouse and entered without a sound, spreading between the metallic shelves full of plastic supplies of all kind. There wasn't only the smell of blood inside. Something acid and sour floated in the air, something warm and animal. _Something_ was chewing in a corner poorly lit. Leonardo first saw a long and heavy tail with small dark scales – dark red, brown or black, he couldn't tell with this light. The hind legs were short but muscular, with long claws scratching on the concrete. The rest of the body was in a too deep shadow or hidden by the corps it was feeding on to be seen. It looked like a lizard from what he could catch, only three to four meters long.

"You know what it is?" Leonardo asked Donatello with signs. His brother shook his head. Fortunately, discretion didn't leave him room for complaining about what he knew and what he didn't. Donatello had been very fond of any kind of knowledge as a child but he had focused on fewer subjects for the past years. It included computers, mathematical, mechanic, physics and chemistry, but mostly computers. He still loved anecdotes and could tell some about an impressive number of topics, mostly when they were unwanted. Leonardo was resigned about his brother's strange habit and he even convinced himself it was part of his charm.

Donatello took Leonardo's place at the end of the row and bent a little to watch properly the beast but he straightened quickly. "It's gone," Donatello signed and they were on the move in the second, climbing on the shelves to get above ground. They found refuge between two piles of big yellow plastic tubes. "All I know is, it's a very big lizard," Donatello kept signing, "but it doesn't make sense. Why on Earth would Karai be afraid of a lizard?"

"I don't know," Leonardo responded. He took a few seconds to look around. "Can it be a mutant, like us?"

"Very unlikely. The ooze is a byproduct of Utrom technology but they left Earth and we destroyed the TransMat right after. They seemed pretty concerned by their impact on Earth so I doubt they left pools of mutagen in the sewers behind them."

"A genetic...", Leonardo started but he had no idea how to explain what he had in mind with signs. "Something?" he still tried. Donatello rolled his eyes.

"Experimentation," he said. "I don't know and we can't know. If Karai wants us to deal with this lizard, fine, let's do it and she'll have the pleasure to figure out what that thing is."

"Maybe it's controlled by someone else," Leonardo proposed. Donatello stared at him for a second this time.

"Not our problem," he signed and his decision was final. Leonardo couldn't argue more with his brother, even if the thought of this giant lizard being controlled bothered him. Killing a foe who knew what he was doing was a thing. Killing someone unaware of what was happening was another. Leonardo wasn't a fan of the second but Donatello was right. They had a better chance to get that lizard down than Karai's men.

A shuriken flew in their direction and ricocheted on a steel beam over their heads. Donatello and Leonardo plunged, each one on a side of the shelf just before an enormous lizard fell where they stood seconds ago, another throwing star deep in its neck. Leonardo twisted round to land on the concrete and ran to the origin of the shuriken while Donatello was going to the opposite. There, on the third level of a shelf, was Michelangelo, thumb up. Leonardo smiled at his brother and unsheathed his outer katana. With a sudden jump, he changed direction and quickly arrived at Raphael's level, facing another lizard. They attacked together but the reptile was fast and he stood up on his rear legs. It was taller than them now but bipedalism wasn't its _forte_. Raphael went to the right, his sai aimed to the lungs, while Leonardo took the left, sliding on the ground to slice the belly. His katana ripped on the hard skin and the lizard's tail whipped his legs before he could dodge. Leonardo rolled on the ground, tibia on fire, but he was more preoccupied by Raphael. His brother had stopped. Leonardo jumped to his feet and saw the long claws through Raphael's left thigh. He lifted his katana to strike the lizard from the back but the edge of the blade was shattered, completely useless.

By the time Leonardo had unsheathed his second sword, Raphael had kicked the lizard upward and broken free of its claws. His leg was bleeding but that wasn't something that could stop him. Raphael also had to abandon his sai, bent by his own force against the skin of their cousin.

"What the Hell is that?" Raphael grunted, keeping his distances from the lizard. It turned awkwardly to face them, still standing, and tasted the air with its yellow and freaking long forked tongue.

"I don't know!" Donatello yelled from a distance.

"Not talking to you!" Raphael barked back.

"I don't know either," Leonardo responded, his eyes on the lizard. "And I thought you were the ugly one of the family."

"Oh shut up, Leo." Raphael took a short knife from a pocket on his belt to replace his sai. "That bastard's skin's too strong."

"Yep."

"Any idea?"

"Nothing pleasant, I fear."

"Great." Raphael took a high guard and breathed deeply to calm down. Leonardo knew what his brother was going to do and his own role would be to distract the lizard. He took a step to his right, both katanas in hand in a low stand. The beast was quick but Leonardo was well aware of that now. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Leonardo attacked suddenly, fast as lightening. His already shattered katana went again for the belly in a cross movement while the other stroke the claws. Both blades resisted and Leonardo stood solidly, without folding under the brute force of the lizard. It opened its mouth wide and Leonardo could see shark-like teeth coming for him. He always had thought Death's smile would be prettier.

Raphael chose this moment to plunge on the lizard, sai first, aiming for its eye and the brain behind, but the beast swiftly turned its head and gulped Raphael's entire arm. Thanks to a rush of adrenaline, Leonardo managed to kick and throw away the lizard but it had already started to close its mouth. Raphael pulled his arm out of the deadly trap, his skin shredded deeply all the way, but at least he had kept his limb. They both retreated a few meters while the lizard fell to the ground on his back, wiggling in all directions, his tail whipping the air.

"You okay?" Leonardo asked, his right cheek on fire. The lizard had had him with its claws, somehow.

"It ate my sai," Raphael grumbled. They didn't have the luxury to elaborate. Michelangelo flew through the air and rammed head first into a shelf. He fell without trying to hang on something to break the fall and that was when Leonardo knew his brother was unconscious. He exchanged a look with Raphael, who nodded. He would take care of the lizard while Leonardo would go to Michelangelo. They had seen two of those ugly butts so far but there may be another one. Leaving a brother unconscious on the ground wasn't an option.

Leonardo sprinted to Michelangelo's location and narrowly escaped a bite from above by skipping on the ground. Leonardo grabbed his brother by the shell and tossed him away just before a third lizard fell from the shelf. This one stayed on the ground while Leonardo stood up, its tongue smelling the air. Leonardo cautiously stepped back until he reached Michelangelo. He knew the lizard was waiting for him to open his guard. It was smart and terribly predatory.

An explosion shook the ground just before a wave of heat hit Leonardo. The lizard blenched and panicked, his tongue whipping the air in search of information, and Leonardo took his chance. He flung Michelangelo on his shoulder and started running for the door but he saw a lizard, one of the three or another one, he didn't know, blocking the way out. Sliding in a tight turn, Leonardo almost rammed into Donatello.

"Not that way!" they yelled at the same time. They had no choice but to get on higher ground. Donatello jumped higher and led the way on top of the shelves. Leonardo could see bone deep holes on his back, bleeding a lot, together with bites marks. His bō staff was half shorter than before and chewed at both ends. Karai can go fuck herself, Leonardo decided. He wouldn't risk his brothers' lives again, not like this.

The explosion Donatello had produced had started a fire with all the plastic around. A dense acrid smoke was rapidly invading the space. There wasn't a single window or opening on the roof so Donatello and Leonardo had to rejoin the ground. They landed near Raphael, overawing two lizards on his own but the price for this feat hadn't been cheap. He had been bitten several times on the legs and arms and cut on the head. Donatello took another homemade grenade from his belt and threw it between the lizards. Raphael jumped as far as possible but it only was a light bomb. It was a good choice considering their proximity to the explosion site but it didn't have much effect on the monsters. At best, the Turtles had gained a handful of seconds but to go where? The door was blocked and it was the only way out they knew. There wasn't even a window in those freaking sheet metal!

Sheet metal, Leonardo realized. They didn't need a door or a window to get out. He gave Michelangelo to Donatello and ran to the nearest wall, quickly followed by Raphael who had understood what Leonardo was going to do. They rammed into the thin metallic wall and made their way out in one blow, falling hard to the ground. "Oh shit," Donatello mumbled behind them.

Leonardo raised his head but was blinded by the lights surrounding them, white, red and blue. He stood slowly, protecting his eyes, and counted more than a dozen of police cars and at least thirty men in uniform, their guns pointing in his direction. Leonardo didn't have time to freak out or curse or anything else. He had to ensure his brothers' lives, it was his duty. As long as they were alive, they had a chance. A chance to what?, he thought as he turned to his brothers. "I'm sorry," Leonardo said, deeply repentant. They had talked about this possibility but it was still a hard decision to make. Leonardo let his katanas fall to the ground and raised his arms. "Don't shoot, we surrender," he yelled, and it easily was the hardest thing he ever had to say in his life.

_To be continued_

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> _Let there be light_

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Next one in a month.


	2. Le fond du trou

**A/N:** The story is based on Mirage Comics volume 1 but is technically an AU as the timeline isn't respected. The events takes place nowadays.  
>I decided to draw a cover for each chapter. You can find it on my tumblr (check the Neververse tag) or on DeviantArt.<br>**Beta-reader:** SadoraNortica  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M for adult themes, violence and such.

* * *

><p><strong>Neververse<strong>  
><em>Chapter 2<em>  
><em>Le fond du trou<br>_

It smelled like piss, vomit, old clothes stiff from dirt, sweat, fear and anger. In short, it smelled like humanity. That's how Michelangelo knew he was in a cell, more than the cold concrete touching his skin, more than the weight of the chains around his wrists, the agitation around him, the radios buzzing or the echo of rough voices along the corridors. Fucking humanity. Michelangelo never had been in a human prison during his entire – and rather short – life but, somehow, he knew exactly how it was supposed to smell. Maybe he had watched too many movies and played too many video games. Master Splinter always thought it was a waste of time but Michelangelo had proven him wrong on this one. This knowledge gained with his butt on the couch was useful after all. He would crack a Nelson-ish "Ha ha!" to his master as soon as they got out of there.

Michelangelo opened an eye for a fraction of second to confirm where he was. He briefly saw Donatello in a cell in front of his. His brother was sitting very straight, like he wouldn't lean his back on the wall. Maybe it was because of the gruesomeness of the place but it seemed odd – they lived in the sewers, after all. Donatello didn't really care about tidiness or cleanness. If Leonardo or Raphael didn't remind him to do his part of the chores, he would never do them, too busy reading or doing stuff on his computers. If Michelangelo ignored his duty, the Evil League of Big Brothers would yell at him. That was kind of unfair but Michelangelo was used to it by now. Nobody ever yelled at Donatello because Donatello never yelled himself – or on extremely rare occasions, like that time Renet had hugged him and he had his face buried between her huge tits. He didn't know how to enjoy the little gifts of life.

Another peak taught Michelangelo there was at least a dozen of men nearby – he could hear them. One of them smelled like cheap Cologne and cigarettes and Michelangelo suddenly understood why a previous tenant had thrown up. He also felt the urge to free his stomach of all those nasty pizza slices, candies and drinks, but that would blow up his cover. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Michelangelo was gear-less, unarmed, and unconscious, totally harmless. It was better to fake his state at the moment. Someone would open that door sooner or later, thinking that strange turtle-man was out, and Michelangelo would use that opportunity to get out of there. He could easily free himself and take down the guards, no problem at all. He just needed someone to open the gate.

"I know you're awake, Mikey," Donatello said in Japanese. "I saw you open an eye."

Dammit Donnie, Michelangelo thought. He liked his brother's continual chit-chat about this and that, especially when he was talking out loud to himself, but for once Michelangelo would have liked Donatello to shut up. Maybe someone around could understand Japanese – it was a pretty popular language among the young. Michelangelo chose to respond in Quenya, an imaginary language created by Tolkien for his Elves. It was a bit complicated to use but very few people on Earth could speak that language. He had had some troubles learning it from the Internet, even more to convince his brothers to do the same. At last, all those hours figuring out the complex grammar and inventing words fitting the modern world were finally paying off.

"Could be a nerve or something," Michelangelo said hesitantly but kept faking his unconsciousness. Donatello recognized the Quenya and followed the lead, with no apparent effort. Donatello had a thing for languages too. The more complicated, the better.

"That would be a bad sign, probably of an upcoming epileptic episode."

"We could use the diversion," Michelangelo suggested.

"Leo ain't with us," Raphael growled from somewhere on the right. It was a bit dolorous to hear Raphael's rough voice massacre the delicate Elven language and its grammar.

"We are not leaving our brother behind," Donatello added.

Michelangelo sighed and sat on his concrete bench. His movement must have been too quick because he suddenly felt dizzy. The sneaky cheap cigarette flavored Cologne used that moment of weakness to remind him of its presence and Michelangelo emptied his stomach on the ground.

"We might not need you to fake a seizure," Donatello smiled out of compassion. "Seems like you've got a concussion."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what it's like to have one," Michelangelo growled as he leaned on the wall. It was cool and he needed that but the back of his head seemed to be a gigantic hematoma. To be honest, he didn't feel good, not at all. His ears were ringing, he tasted blood and vomit in his mouth, his head felt heavy and all of his blood vessels were buzzing. He needed his bad day blanket badly.

"What happened?" Michelangelo asked.

"You flew," Raphael snorted. "Gotta practice the landing though."

"I'll keep that in mind. Tell me the truth, Doctor, will I ever be pretty again?"

"I doubt that," Donatello answered.

"Thank you Donnie for your ever kindness. Where's Leo?"

"In an interrogation room, somewhere, I guess." Donatello's voice was a little tensed but it was only normal. Without Leonardo around, he was in charge of the operation. He had to decide if they were to abandon their brother or not. Knowing Donatello, it would be the not – for now. He wasn't the kind of leader to boldly jump into the action without a solid plan. Donatello had to know all the parameters and calculate all the probabilities before doing anything that would be dangerous for somebody else. So far, the odds didn't seem to be in their favor.

"So, we sit on our butts and wait," Michelangelo concluded.

"For now, yes."

A metallic sound indicated the opening of some gates in the end of the corridor and one of the guards started walking in their direction. Donatello's face became a hard cold mask, exactly what Daddy expected from them. Michelangelo knew he was doing the same but it always amazed him to see the quiet one of the team entering the mold of the fantastic warrior he was. Donatello usually was calm and composed, mostly because he didn't have much space between the three big egos of his brothers, the voice of peace and reason in the tumult. Even so, he liked fighting. Not the "kill all the enemies" part, obviously, but it was part of his life, of their life. Training was a big portion of their days. Without their regular eight hours a day, they felt awkward and guilty. Michelangelo had read somewhere that professional sportsmen were like drug addicts, only they got their kick out of physical training instead of crack or whatever. It must have been the same for them.

The guard risking a look in his cell was a tall blond guy in his thirties wearing the black uniform of NYPD. Fear and curiosity were fighting to take over his face.

"Were you speaking Elven?" the dude asked, unsure of how he was supposed to talk to him. Great, Michelangelo thought. Just fucking great. Out of the handful of people capable of recognizing, and maybe understanding, the language they used, one of those fucking geeks was right in front of him. Michelangelo should have known better. Hazard, luck and the freaking Universe were almost never on their side.

"None of your fucking business," Raphael growled in English from his cell. Fear won on the policeman's face but apparently duty was more important than that.

"Huh, well, do you need water or something?" he asked this time. "You guys are cold blooded, right? Maybe you want to drink something hot, it's a bit chilly down there."

"Go fuck yourself," Raphael responded.

"You're not helping," Donatello told his brother in Japanese. He continued in English, "Water would be welcome, the temperature isn't important. The bottled kind, sealed, and don't try to put anything into it, we'd know." He tapped his beak to support his speech. The policeman nodded and walked away.

"I'll grab him and break his pretty little neck," Raphael warned his brothers in Japanese, "then I'll use his keys to..."

"We are not killing anymore," Donatello stopped him.

"We won't have another chance to..."

"We stay where we are."

"C'mon Donnie-boy, we gotta get out of here, find Leo and..."

"And what?" Donatello sighed. "We run to the Lair, all of New York police forces on our tail, get arrested if not killed in the process? Great plan, Raph, great plan."

"Do you think Master Splinter will come to the rescue?" Michelangelo asked to break the uprising argument between his brothers.

"No," Donatello answered coldly. "He wouldn't risk his life to save us."

"Fuck you!" Raphael rumbled from the depths of his cell. "Splinter's..."

"Master Splinter is far from stupid," Donatello interrupted hardly. "Look at the reality of the situation here, Raphael: we are in cells somewhere in a police station most likely in Red Hook but we don't know our exact location and it will not be revealed in any news channel because it is very sensitive information. Master Splinter always refused to learn how to use a computer so he can't locate our phones with the program I made for that. Besides, we don't know where are our phones, right now they can be anywhere in the city for analysis and on that point we're fucked because I didn't have time to wipe their memories. And that… that will be the end of everything."

Shit, they'll have access to my Twitter account, Michelangelo thought. He should have listened to his brother and logged off the application when he was done using it but it was just a waste of time to do that. With a sigh, Michelangelo looked at Donatello and his brother's body language screamed "guilty", with bright red neon all around him. Of course, it wasn't just about high scores in game apps or anything as devoid of importance like that, Michelangelo understood. A cellphone could give a lot more information than one would think. In their case, that meant their connection to April, the localization of their home, of Splinter. Their old master usually slept from midnight until six in the morning. Michelangelo didn't know what time it was now but maybe a SWAT team was already at Splinter's door, knocking with a battering ram.

"To resume," Donatello continued, his voice a little more tensed, "Master Splinter has no idea where we are and what situation we are in. We are ninjas. Information is an important part of any mission but he has none and has no time to collect some. He will never take the risk of freeing us."

"You don't know that," Raphael grumbled, calmer than before.

"I know I wouldn't."

And on those words, Donatello shut up. Michelangelo watched his brother for a second before catching his eyes but he couldn't stand it and looked away. Humanity also smelled like failure.

* * *

><p>The phone was ringing and it was too damn early in the morning to be anything else but urgent. Gordon palpated the bedside table in search of his phone and barely raised his head of his pillow to answer.<p>

"Miller."

"Lieutenant Gordon Miller from Criminal?"

"Yes, this is he."

He didn't recognize the voice and his intuition told him he had lived something similar a few years ago. Of course, he was awaken by phone calls from the police department pretty often, that was part of the job, but something felt different this time. That something shook him up and Miller sat on the edge of his bed, catching his glasses on the bedside table at the same time.

"Who is this?" Miller asked.

"I am Anton Bianco, night liaison of the Red Hook district, Sir. We, huh... There isn't many ways to tell you that, Lieutenant, so I'll be straight forward: a speaking manlike turtle gave us your name."

It would have been a bad joke if Miller didn't know exactly who that liaison was speaking about. A speaking manlike turtle. He had met three of them about two years ago, in the events following the Eastside Massacre, and he had spoken to one in particular. Leonardo. Five feet four of bulking muscles compressed between a plastron and a carapace with two katana-like swords, calm, composed, competent. Very competent.

"I know it sounds like a bad joke, Sir," Bianco continued, "but it is actually true and..."

"Give me the address," Miller ordered. He was already up and jumping in his pants, out of habit. By the time the liaison had given him the address of the precinct, Miller was slamming the door of his apartment.

It took him twenty-three minutes to get to Red Hook, thanks to the siren on the roof of his car. There already was a group of journalists gathering in front of the building but Miller didn't pay any attention to them. He entered, shoving his badge in the face of the policemen at the door, and walked right to the chief office, a certain Sullivan. The man was in his late fifties, gray hair and dark circles under his eyes. He looked at Miller like he had all the answers of the universe and beyond in his possession. Too bad for Sullivan.

"Lieutenant Miller," Miller said. "You called me."

"Yes, Anton did, yes," Sullivan nodded. He stopped talking, not sure of what to say maybe. It was understandable. It wasn't easy to admit there actually were little green men walking among the streets of their beloved city.

"I need to see Leonardo," Miller said. He got himself a cold look from the captain. Those old hard bastards never liked to be ordered around, especially by a total stranger who seemed more informed than they were. It might remind them of the feds or something. The feds, Miller thought. How long before they get here and try to take away Leonardo and his brothers?

"And how exactly do you know that... Leonardo?" Sullivan asked as he leaned in his chair.

"We don't have time for that," Miller responded. "If you're not helping, someone else will." He turned on his heels and started walking but Sullivan quickly caught him up. The old man took him to the elevator and they went to the second floor without a word. The corridor leading to the interrogation room was crowded with curious onlookers. No wonder the journalists were already there. "Only a few selected people you trust on the other side of the mirror," Miller ordered in a murmur to Sullivan before opening the door to the interrogation room. "And get rid of this crowd, it's not a zoo, dammit." The captain nodded and Miller left him behind him.

Leonardo was chained to the table, very still, looking right in front of him at his reflection. He was the only spot of color in this grayish beige room. It was actually the first time Miller had a chance to take a good look at this creature and he took it. Leonardo was green, as expected of a turtle, with red around his eyes and you could see slightly darker marks in symmetrical patterns on his naked body. His carapace was damaged here and there, as much as his skin and plastron. He looked bigger than two years ago. From what Miller had understood, Leonardo was the student of some martial art expert so he must have been a teenager or a young adult at best. And he was a reptile, for what Miller knew, and reptiles continued to grow throughout their life, so maybe his growth spurt was normal, he didn't know.

He didn't know and he didn't care. Miller walked to the angle of the room where the camera was and disconnected it. It was too late for that obviously but it would be better if there was no recording of what they were going to talk about. The few witnesses behind the glass may be convinced to shut their mouth later. And what about all others in the corridor? God, there was no way out of this.

"You're seriously fucked," Miller harshly said as he sat at the table. Leonardo didn't blink, his white eyelids doing a perfect job of freaking Miller out. He had learned a thing or two about turtles since his first encounter with Leonardo – actually, he knew more than he needed to know – but that knowledge seemed irrelevant now that he had this mutant on the opposite side of a table. He would have liked the turtle to drop the nictitating membranes in order to have a real face to face conversation, though.

"I know," Leonardo responded. There was regret in his voice. "I thought this would spare our lives a little longer than any other option. Are my brothers all right?"

"I don't know, I didn't even know they were here too. I suppose that means nobody will try to get you out of here in a glorious slaughter."

"I suppose."

"Good. You don't need another massacre on your back. None of us need it, actually."

Leonardo nodded. Miller rubbed his eyes then put his glasses back in place.

"I know I told you I'd keep the police away from you guys but I can't do miracles, you know that?"

"I do."

The turtle's impassivity was starting to get on Miller's nerves.

"What am I supposed to do then?" he snapped.

"I don't know," Leonardo admitted in a murmur.

He's just a kid, Miller realized. A Goddam kid who thought he was doing the right thing and ended up waist deep into quicksand. His every move would drag him lower and lower. It was normal that he had tried to reach the only vine he could think of. Unfortunately for that vine, that would lead to a lot of questions and a lot of evidence that had magically disappeared from the archives. Leonardo's attempt to save his own ass was totally going to cost Miller his job.

The lieutenant took a deep breath to calm down and tried to organize his thoughts. The situation was bad but he had seen worse. Nobody was dying at the moment, which was always a good point when you had to deal with those freaking ninjas and their bloody vendettas.

"How did you get there?" Miller asked.

"It was a trap." It seemed difficult to admit from Leonardo's point of view. The great ninja, master of shadows, wasn't proud of himself on this one. Good. He wasn't supposed to be.

"Can you elaborate?"

"Karai asked us to meet her earlier and..."

"Karai," Miller interrupted.

"Yes."

"The Karai, head of the Foot Clan, enemy of your master, the Karai who's responsible for the massacres all over town two years ago?"

"Yeah...," the teenager confirmed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Goddammit, Leo!"

The turtle seemed truly offended by the nickname but Miller didn't care. For some obscure reason, that little prick reminded him of his nephew, who was a little younger than the turtle but so full of himself the only thing Miller wanted to give him was a slap. He hated teenagers. He hated kids, actually, from birth to adulthood, even after most of the time.

"We had a truce," Leonardo defended himself. "You know we helped Karai, settling down the situation and made peace with her two years ago. She asked for a meeting because someone or something was attacking her and we had to help her."

"But it was a trap," Miller said, trying really hard to stay calm.

"I didn't believe it at first, and a part of me still doesn't, but, yes, it might have been a trap."

"You're an idiot."

Leonardo winced and even frowned.

"That's right," Miller insisted, "you're an idiot. It was a really stupid idea to make a pact with the Devil."

"Karai is not the Devil," Leonardo responded coldly. "She's trying to get a legit business and..."

"Oh! Oh that changes everything, Leo," Miller mocked him. "And what would she do then? Open a sushi restaurant in the Upper East Side? That would be a good cover for her other business on the side, you know, the assassination and so called protection business! God, you're so naive."

Leonardo shut his mouth. He was starting to look pissed off and something told Miller he should stop playing with fire. He knew what Leonardo was capable of, he had seen it first hand, and he knew deep down those chains wouldn't be of any help if Leonardo had decided to free himself.

"What are you still doing here?" Miller sighed. Leonardo raised his hands and the chains jingled along. "Come on, we both know that can't possibly stop you."

The little frown between Leonardo's eye ridges was a clear sign of admittance. He leaned on the back of his chair.

"My brothers and I are hurt, Mike may still be unconscious and Raph's state is pretty bad, even if he'd never admit it. Sure, we can get out of here but that would not be easy and not possible without killing a lot of people. That's an awful lot of work with bare hands." Leonardo let that one sink in before continuing. Somehow, he didn't look like a stupid teenager anymore. "And now, the turtle's out of the sewers, so to speak, there is no going back. We'd be hunted down, where ever we go. Escaping is a stupid idea, I know that, as stupid as surrendering at the time but I didn't have a choice. Cops were surrounding the warehouse and there is no possible way they were there for the fire, it had just started. Someone tipped them of about what was happening. It was a trap, Miller, and I did what I could."

Leonardo had rejected his guilt and his shame for the moment, looking straight into Miller's eyes. He was serious and that was good. They could work with that. Miller also leaned on his chair.

"No going back, then? You're sure about that?"

"Yes."

"And how do you plan on escaping when you are being split in two by the end of the day?"

"We may be mutants but we are more valuables alive than dead," Leonardo stated coldly. "Besides, we are sentient beings, as smart as any human."

"You think that will stop anybody from killing you? History is full of 'sacrifices' for science."

"We are not animals."

Leonardo's voice sounded like a threat. The mutant wasn't desperate. He was determinate. If things were not going his way, he would get out of here with his brothers, whatever the consequences would be. In some strange sort of way, Leonardo was actually cooperating by staying quietly in this room and answering questions. Cooperation. It was a long shot but Miller didn't have any other idea.

"I can buy you and your brothers some time if you cooperate."

"To do what?" Leonardo asked, skeptical.

"Take down the Foot."

"That's not going to happen." Leonardo tried to fold his arms but the chains stopped his movement. They both knew he could tear them off of the table if he wanted to but Leonardo gently put his hands on the metal instead. That seemed to be a sign of goodwill. "I can't betray Karai."

"She betrayed you first."

"I am not sure of that."

"Think of your brothers, Leonardo," Miller said coldly. "Their lives depend on your decision right here, right now."

'What's betrayal compared to your dear brothers?' was a clearer version of what he had said but Miller knew it was a bad idea to make a direct threat to the turtle. Beside, Leonardo was perfectly capable of understanding what Miller meant. He may have been a brat too full of himself but he was smart. You couldn't be a mutant hiding for years in New York and fighting criminals without a sharp brain.

"Alright," Leonardo cringed. "I'll tell you all I know about the Foot."

"Good," Miller responded as he stood up. "I'll see what I can do."

Leonardo nodded, fist clenched on the table. Miller was at the door when the turtle spoke again, his voice full of accusation.

"Who's the Devil, now?"

Miller slammed the door.

* * *

><p>Elisabeth Wolfe started her day like any other: she woke up, responded quickly to Nature's call, turned on the radio in the kitchen, made some coffee and jumped in the shower while her cup was cooling down. She was shaving when she heard the news: four mutated man-size turtles had been captured around two in the morning. Elisabeth cut herself on the calf when she heard the news but she didn't let panic overwhelmed her. She was not that kind of person and her job didn't give her that option anyway. She was a lawyer, a freaking good one, and she was going to do what she was good at. That cut was fitting, she decided as she got out of the shower. A warrior always collected scars during a battle.<p>

Elisabeth arrived forty minutes later in front of a tiny precinct in Red Hook near a big avenue. It has been pretty easy to find out where to go, a few calls here and there and tada! No need of magic for that but she knew she would have to use her tricks at some point.

With her suitcase in one hand and four cups of coffee in a cup holder plus a bag of donuts in the other, Elisabeth walked through the growing crowd of journalists and curious in front of the two story beige brick building. The policemen guarding the door naturally stopped her but Elisabeth didn't really care. She used her most charming smile on them and helped herself with a little something from her bag of tricks.

"I'm Elisabeth Wolfe, from Clark & Wolfe, here to represent my clients, Michelangelo and his brothers. You know, short green guys, with a shell on their back?"

"They have a lawyer?" a policeman asked, not believing it.

"They do now," she answered, confident.

"But they... they're not humans, ma'am," the other whispered while looking over Elisabeth's shoulder.

Of course, they were attracting the curiosity of the journalists. Elisabeth could see the camera flashes all around her and feel the attention on her. She would have liked to control the media for this story but apparently she couldn't, not if those policemen kept making things difficult. Elisabeth pushed in a little more as she spoke to be sure they would let her in.

"Everybody has the right to be defended in this country, Sir."

The policemen knew it didn't make much sense but they let her in anyway, numbed by the push. Elisabeth didn't let her chance escape and squeezed through the gates.

The ground floor looked and sounded like a hive: people were walking everywhere, rushing from one desk to another, phones were ringing and buzzing and nobody really paid attention to that tall mestizo girl in her expensive suit with coffee and a greasy bag of donuts. Elisabeth didn't complain. For once, it seemed she didn't have to thump her and her firm's name to get access to her client. Authorities didn't like Clark & Wolfe. Their business was to get rich people out of tricky situations or to help them get richer by bypassing the law. Elisabeth didn't have any problem with that. She liked her job and the perpetual challenges which come with her fat paycheck.

Elisabeth had no clue where Michelangelo was so she used the agitation around her to snoop here and there. She had met Michelangelo a little less than two years ago. She had been at that boring costumed event at the museum only to kiss asses for work. She was one of the boss's daughters after all, a rising star among the young lawyers in her firm and in New York, she had to be there to smile and shake hands. She grew tired of it eventually and wondered in the museum that her firm had rented for the evening. Not any museum, the Metropolitan Museum of Art of New York _s'il vous plaît_. Clark and Wolfe liked to show off. It was one of the three top firms, not only in the city but on all east coast, so they had to spend a lot of money for their clients in this kind of events. Elisabeth considered it more as a way to intimidate the competition than anything else. It was a ridiculous "who's got the bigger dick" contest. Her dad and associate won every year.

She had found a guy in a turtle costume alone in a room dedicated to Monet. He was in front of the _Bain à la Grenouillère_, a painting representing a restaurant on the Seine in Paris but truly famous for being the beginning of the impressionist technique created by Money and Renoir. Elisabeth wasn't particularly fond of Monet but she had to admit that painting was pretty impressive. The water work was lively.

"Nice costume," she had said to the guy, "but why the belt and stuff?"

He had turned his head to catch her eyes and she had known that he wasn't in a costume. Hell, he wasn't even human! And the little frown between his white eyes had told her he also knew she wasn't a regular human either. Another look had told her he was armed and those big muscles all over his body were a good indication of his capacities.

"Did I forget my pants again?" he had answered and Elisabeth couldn't help but laugh. He had cracked a smart little smile and that had been it. They had spent the rest of the evening visiting the museum and commenting the paintings, sometimes seriously, sometimes absolutely not, and by the end of the night, they had made love at her place, sweet, passionate and very awkward love. They had seen each other from time to time since then.

Elisabeth had hoped Michelangelo would be somewhere in an interrogation room where they could have a minute of privacy to get their story straight before being interrupted but he wasn't above ground. She overheard about the freaks in the cells so she headed for the underground level. The high policemen density per square meter was a pretty good indication she was in the right place. Elisabeth was noticed this time but claiming she was a lawyer sufficed to help her reach the grates at one end of a corridor with cells lined up. There were no humans in the corridor, they seemed to have been packed in another one, but she could hear Michelangelo's voice speaking in Japanese to someone else.

"You can't be there, ma'am," a tall blond policeman stopped her at the grates. "No one is authorized to go further."

"I'm their lawyer," Elisabeth repeated once more. "Elisabeth Wolfe, from Clark and Wolfe."

Somewhere in the corridor, Michelangelo and his brothers stopped talking.

"I'm sorry ma'am, we have orders," the policeman insisted.

"You know it's illegal to prevent a lawyer to talk to her clients, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"They're not humans?" Elisabeth sighed, irritated. It wasn't reasonable to abuse her tricks but she pushed again. "So what? You may have a genetic mutation you don't know about which completely separates you from Homo Sapiens and we still consider you as a human so shut up and open those grates."

The policeman hesitated. Apparently, he was one of those humans capable of resisting her tricks, someone with a great willpower. The other one was ready to give her access but the tall one didn't know what to do.

"It's okay officer, I know her," Michelangelo said from his cell.

"She's really your lawyer?" the policeman asked.

"Yep."

Elisabeth rubbed her victory smile all over the tall idiot's face as she walked triumphant through the grates. There were eight cells, all empty but for three of them. Elisabeth first saw a mutant on the penultimate cell on her right. He was chained to the wall and hurt pretty bad, dried blood all over his body. The look he gave her made her shiver. This would be Raphael, the brother with anger issues, if she remembered correctly. The tenant of the last cell on her right seemed very serious. He was sitting very straight on the edge of the concrete bench, hands on his knees. He could have been Leonardo or Donatello, Elisabeth had no idea. Michelangelo never told her much about his brothers. She knew their names and some general personality traits but that was it. They had to keep a lot of secrets to stay safe, he had told her, and Elisabeth perfectly understood that concept. Her family also had some pretty skeletons in the closet, to be honest.

Michelangelo was chained to a wall as well and he didn't look good at all. He had scratches and hematomas all over his body and a large cut on the side of his head. He looked green – well, greener than the usual, not the good kind of green to be exact.

"I'm okay," Michelangelo said with a poor smile. "Thanks for coming."

"That's what friends are for, right?" Elisabeth shrugged back. "Are you guys hungry? I brought donuts and coffee."

"Ma'am," the tall policeman called her, "you can't..."

"Yes I can," Elisabeth interrupted as she turned to face the grates. "What, you think I'm stupid enough to sneak something into coffee cups and donuts?"

"No, ma'am, but we have to check anyway," the policeman answered. He unlocked the grates and waited for her to come back.

"It's okay Beth," Michelangelo tempered. "This one is all about doing things right but he's not that bad."

"Yeah, he doesn't stink like the other one," Raphael grunted behind Elisabeth.

She sighed and walked back to the grates, resigned. Mister Procedure used his pen to check the coffees and lightly palpated the donuts through the greasy paper. He nodded and with that Elisabeth was allowed to go back to the end of the corridor. She snapped her high heels with red soles on her way just because she could. She then figured out that Michelangelo and his brothers could probably not reach their cell's grate to grab the cups. She'd have to wait for someone to open the gates.

"They're hurt," Elisabeth reminded the policemen. "Aren't you going to do something about that?"

"Someone's coming."

Elisabeth sniffed.

"We've seen worse," Leonardo or Donatello said quietly. "So, you two know each other." There clearly were reproaches in his voice.

"We've met at a party," Elisabeth responded with a smile and it was the absolute truth. "I'm sorry for being rude but which one are you? Leonardo or Donatello?"

"Oh great, she knows our names," Raphael grumbled. "Good job, Mikey."

"I also told her you had a small dick," Michelangelo responded without hesitation. Raphael snapped his tongue in a very annoyed little noise before his brother continued. "Yes, I told her some stuff about you guys. Beth's a good friend, no worries. And the one in the red corner," Michelangelo said in his best announcer's voice, "is our resident genius, chief in second, the one and only, the incredible Don, Donnie, Donnie-boy."

"Donatello," the concerned corrected. He didn't seem amused by the nicknames or the jovial way he was introduced.

"And where is Leonardo, then?"

"Don't know," Michelangelo shrugged. He regretted his movement immediately and rubbed his left shoulder, the chains singing along.

"What happened?" Elisabeth asked, more out of concern than curiosity or professionalism. "I thought your motto was 'stick to the shadows'?"

"It still is," Donatello insured, "but it seems we have fallen into a trap."

"No kiddin'," Raphael grunted.

"What trap?" Elisabeth insisted.

Donatello gave her a quick summary of the situation before going to the point: "Cops were surrounding the warehouse when we got out to escape the flames. Not firemen, policemen. Besides, the fire ignited by my grenade had just started so..."

"Woh woh woh, stop right there," Elisabeth interrupted as she turned to face the genius. "Your _grenade_?"

"Yes, my grenade," Donatello confirmed. "Our usual weapons were inefficient against the lizards' skin so I had to employ something stronger. Explosives were the next logic option."

"A grenade," Elisabeth repeated, not believing it herself. Damn, she had no idea Mike & Bros had access to this kind of weaponry. Being a mutant ninja with swords and pointy shurikens was already bad but being a mutant ninja with grenades and totally thinking that using explosives was _logic_ was really, really bad. She turned to Michelangelo.

"Yep, he's like that," he smiled. "'told ya I was the most normal of the family."

"Bitch please," Raphael laughed as Donatello frowned, his lips a thin putty line.

"Guys, this is serious," Elisabeth sighed. "You're in big trouble, do you realize that?"

"Already made my peace with that," Raphael responded. "You a lawyer, right? Well, this is my will: in the hypothetical case some sucker'd put an end to my miserable life, and be sure I'll take down as many as I can before that happens, my body goes to science but they gotta keep my hand in formalin or whatever with my middle finger up."

"I am here to make sure you'll get out of here alive," Elisabeth insured.

"Sure, Darling. Good luck with that."

"Raphael is not the most optimistic of us," Donatello thought necessary to clarify. "I will give you more details on what happened but we should wait for Leonardo before taking any decision. Can you bring him down here? I believe it is a task within your power and it would be very helpful."

"I can try," Elisabeth said.

"'Do or do not. There is no try'," Donatello quoted.

"Einstein?"

"Yoda."

It made sense, Elisabeth thought as she walked through the crowd in search of whoever was in charge. It totally made sense, somehow, that a green mutant had quoted a fictional green alien, but even so Elisabeth had difficulties believing how calm the brothers were. They were joking, right in front of her, even chained to a wall in the basement of a police station with a hundred policemen around. First option: they were crazy. Honestly, it was the best option, the most logical one too – like that damn freaking _grenade_. Elisabeth had no trouble picturing Michelangelo and his brothers going completely coocoo because of the stress or the blood loss or both. Second option: they were not worried at all by the situation. They were capable of getting out of there at a moment's notice. That was worse than the first option. It meant Elisabeth and all the people around had greatly underestimated what those brothers were capable of. She had known Michelangelo wasn't a cute little pet turtle, he had told her he had been trained to be a ninja, but she had no idea how good he was, how dangerous he was. It made her shiver as she finally found the captain's office. She should have stayed in bed that morning.

Elisabeth knocked on the doorframe. The captain seemed busy in his office, there was a bunch of people talking to him already. The old man gave her a cold look and made a sign for somebody to close the door. A seemingly tired black guy gave her a forced smile before shutting the door. Elisabeth was not used to this kind of treatment and she was ready to kick some butts but what she overheard was more interesting.

"Their phones have been modified, the OS is a custom Android kernel unknown on the Internet," a woman said, "with a lot of care put in security. Everything is encrypted, it will take a while to have access to any meaningful information."

"So we can't trace them?" The voice was husky, probably the captain's.

"Not for now, no. But we've learned some things about them anyway. For example, two of them have a Twitter account. One has over five thousands followers."

"What? Other freaks?" someone else panicked.

"Unlikely," the woman responded. "One of the... the turtles we have down there is 'The_Green_Dude'."

"Hey I follow him!" a fourth interrupted. "Fuck, I can't believe it!"

"And what does he... huh, it talk about?" someone asked.

"Video games, comics and stuff like that. He has a blog too. Fuck! I finished the Deadpool video game thanks to his walk through!"

"So one of them plays video games," Husky Voice sighed. "What else?"

"Not much," the woman continued. "I told you, pretty much everything is encrypted."

"What about the phone numbers they call on a regular basis?"

"Encrypted."

"You kids always rely on technology with your iPhones and your WiFi but it's not that complicated, dammit," Husky Voice complained. There was some noise inside, some plastic unfolded. Instead of decrypting the numbers, he was just about to call the most recent ones, Elisabeth understood. She knew she should let them do it, it was a clear violation of the law if no official investigation was running and that was good for her, but that also meant big troubles for whoever was going to answer those calls. She had no obligation to Michelangelo's friends or his brothers' but the Turtles were counting on her. And her number was in one of those phones! Michelangelo hadn't called her since late April but still, the cops would know sooner or later.

I am such an idiot, Elisabeth realized just when she was knocking again at the door. She was Michelangelo's _lawyer_, of course he had to have her number! But it was too late now. She didn't wait for an answer and entered the office. The phone was ringing in the old man's hand. A voice-mail box answered the call as Elisabeth walked in.

"_Welcome to Anthony's pizza! We're closed right now so please call us ba..._"

"A pizza place?" the woman said, surprised. The others were all looking at Elisabeth.

"Ma'am," the captain growled behind his desk, hanging up the call, "you have to wait outside."

"No, no I don't," Elisabeth responded. "I am Elisabeth Wolfe, from Clark & Wolfe, representing my clients, Michelangelo and his brothers, and I just caught you breaking the law. I am asking you to release my clients immediately or the procurer will be notified of your lack of respect for..."

"The procurer?" the captain barked. "Are you out of your mind, miss? Those freaks are not your clients, they are not humans!"

"They may not be but they still have the right to be defended."

"No they don't. Get her out of here before I put her personally in a cell."

"You'll have to respond in court for that," Elisabeth insured the captain as the black guy escorted her to the door. She couldn't get out, though. A man in a cheap suit wearing glasses was blocking the way. He seemed to recognize her but she had no clue who he was.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" the captain growled. "Did it talk?"

"Leonardo talked, yes," the lieutenant responded and insisted on the name of the mutant. "I'll have to move him and his brothers out of here, somewhere safer."

"No, they stay here."

"I just got off the phone with my boss and the Turtles are now under the protection of the Criminal department," Glasses insisted. "They are crucial witnesses in many gangs crimes perpetrated in the last four years."

"Yes, the Foot and Purple Dragons, I know that, it told me, but they are not witnesses, Miller, they were part of it! For God's sake, this freak coldly admitted it killed some of those idiots in pajamas! It was trained for this purpose by some sort of fanatic! It looked me right in the eyes when it told me that, and it was perfectly okay with doing it!"

"If they help us put the Foot down," Miller said, "I'll gladly do everything I can to give them immunity."

Behind her, the captain was ready to explode, Elisabeth could sense it. The lieutenant didn't seem to care at all. He was determined.

"I'll help," she said with a smile and she didn't have to use her tricks to convince Glasses.

"You're from Clark & Wolfe, right?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Good. We'll need bad guys to put badder guys down. Follow me."

Elisabeth was too glad to obey the order.

"This is not over, Miller," the captain threatened but the lieutenant wasn't impressed at all. Elisabeth instinctively knew she couldn't mess with this guy. His determination was too strong for that.

"So, where is Leonardo?" Elisabeth asked as they headed for the stairs.

"He'll be down with his brothers shortly but my guys are on their way. We won't stay long in this shit hole."

"Good, good. So you have a verbal agreement with my clients concerning information for protection."

"I do."

"I strongly suggest you put that down on paper."

"Yeah, right," Miller snorted, "because Leonardo's signature will totally protect him from anything. It's not like he is an American citizen."

"As much as I know, they were born on American soil."

Miller eyed her heavily over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs.

"Okay, that won't stand," Elisabeth admitted. "But we could try to make someone their legal guardian and that person would have the legal authority to..."

"We don't have that kind of time. It'd take months to a court to assign them someone."

"What about their master? Mike told me they had a master."

"Leonardo said no one would come to help them."

"Oh. But they have friends, you know?"

"Let me guess, you're one of them," Miller said.

"Yes, to Michelangelo anyway. I came as soon as I heard the news."

"Yeah, the news," the lieutenant signed, rubbing his eyes. That was another problem, Elisabeth knew it too. "So your boss doesn't know you took this case, right?"

"Hmm, nope."

"Clark & Wolfe is well known to be in bed with some pretty big assholes, from the police point of view anyway. Make sure your firm doesn't protect anyone even slightly related to the Foot, otherwise you can't work on the Turtles' case."

"There would be a conflict of interests," Elisabeth realized. "Shit."

Miller arched an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He ordered that the basement be cleared off of all the onlookers trying to have a look at the Turtles and then waited near the elevator. It didn't take long before the doors opened on ten heavily armed policemen surrounding the fourth brother, Leonardo. All the chains around him barely let him the freedom to walk but he looked like it had no importance at all. Elisabeth started to believe it was only a show for the audience. They acted confident to make the puny humans around them uncomfortable. That wasn't a good move. For now, they should play it safe and be a little more humble.

Leonardo didn't make any difficulties and stayed silent during the short walk to the grates. He didn't pay any attention to the soundless crowd of spectators either, chin up as if they didn't exist. Everyone held their breath. Leonardo's chains clinging along were the only source of noise in the corridor, until they reached the grates.

"My apologies for the way you were brought here," Michelangelo said from the depth of his cell. "I wasn't sure you'd accept a formal invitation."

Leonardo smiled as he passed the grates and replied:

"There's always something formal about the point of a pistol."

Elisabeth had no idea if it was another quote or some sort of a secret message between the brothers but she clearly saw it had made the crowd uneasy. Yes, the Turtles were capable of humor and they cared for each other. They weren't some sort of bigger version of a limited reptile with the ability to speak, only driven by blood. They were _people_. Green scaly regular people.

"I want to see my brothers, Miller," Leonardo warned the lieutenant.

Miller gave orders accordingly and Leonardo was allowed to walk to the end of the corridor. Elisabeth followed at a respectful distance, as did Miller. Leonardo first turned to Donatello.

"How is your back, brother?"

"Pierced, it seems. This kind of body modification always fascinated me but experimenting with it without the proper tools is not pleasant."

"Infection?"

"I hope not. Once was enough, thank you."

Leonardo nodded before turning to Michelangelo. He looked at him a little longer before talking.

"How are you?"

"I'm alive," Michelangelo answered almost shyly. "Leo, I'm sorry for..."

"Shit happens, Mike," Leonardo interrupted. "I'm glad you're okay." He then took two steps back to have a look at Raphael. "It might have been a trap."

"Might?" Raphael snorted. "It_ was_ a trap, Fart Face! Maybe you'll listen to me next time."

Leonardo winced and it was clear he was asking himself if there would ever be a next time. He then let the policemen lead him to the cell in front of Raphael's and he disappeared from Elisabeth's vision. She was about to ask for some privacy when two clueless guys arrived in the corridor, big plastic suitcases in hand. They looked young, less than thirty year old.

"Who are they?" Elisabeth asked coldly.

"The vets, ma'am," the tall blond policeman at the grates responded as he locked up behind the newcomers. They seemed impressed by the security and completely lost. So early in the morning, they would have been on duty at the nearest clinic or something like that, probably still students paying for school with some night shifts.

"Vets?" Raphael shouted from his cell, making everybody around jump in the air. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It's better than nothing, I guess," Miller responded with a shrug.

"Do I look like a freaking pet to you?" Raphael insisted. "And who the fuck are you anyway?"

"Gordon Miller," Leonardo calmly answered as the policemen were getting out of his cell. "We rescued him and his partner about two years ago, Mike, you and me. The Foot had infiltrated his team."

"Ouh, yes, I remember!" Michelangelo joyfully interrupted before Raphael could reply. "Some asshole stabbed me in the back with a sickle, that night. Good times, good times, lots of fun."

"Excuse me," one of the veterinarians hesitated, "but we're here for the tortoises?"

Miller pointed him Raphael's cell and the guy bent a little to have a look. He straightened himself almost immediately and became as white as milk. Raphael was grinning like a Cheshire cat, both dangerous and amused at the same time. Elisabeth took a mental note: never alone with this guy.

"That's not tortoises," the veterinarian said, shaking.

"We're turtles, actually," Donatello corrected from his cell.

"They're speaking," the veterinarian insisted. "They're speaking turtles."

"And wait till you hear me sing, buddy," Michelangelo taunted.

"Yeah," Miller sighed. "Well, do what you can. You'll do better than doctors anyway."

"That dude is not touching me," Raphael warned, pointing his finger at the shaking veterinarian.

"Are you refusing any treatment?" Miller asked him.

"Heck yes!"

"Good. Less work for them then."

"You're hurt pretty bad, Raph," Leonardo reminded his brother.

"That's my problem. Give me a needle and some thread and I'll do it myself."

"Thread?" the veterinary jumped. "But that's... that's for clothes!"

"'cause you think we have a medical bay fully equipped, genius?" Raphael snorted.

"Raphael is actually the best of us when it comes to stitches," Donatello informed. "Now, could we please move on to the actual treatment? I personally mind having holes in my back."

Michelangelo laughed in his cell and Donatello replied with an irritated little sound. The veterinary team hesitated a little more, heavily eying each other. They wanted to get out of here, it was pretty obvious.

"Start with either Michelangelo or Donatello," Leonardo told them, pointing to his left. "Mike was hit on the head pretty hard and Don was bitten. Don't worry, they won't do you any harm, unless you can't stand bad jokes."

"That hurt, bro," Michelangelo pouted.

"You'll survive," Leonardo responded automatically, his attention fixed on the veterinarian. He gestured to show them the end of the corridor and they finally moved. Elisabeth was pretty impressed by the leader's confidence. Her eyes stayed fixed on him a little too long and he noticed her. Even if his eyes were covered by the white membranes, Elisabeth could feel their intensity on her. It made her shiver.

"What are you?" Leonardo asked.

The question startled Elisabeth. She tried to compose herself but the penetrating look Miller gave her voided all her efforts. She could only manage to gabble the name of her firm.

"Your lawyer," the lieutenant explained.

"Yes," Elisabeth insured. "Yes, that I am. And I have to call my boss. I'm coming with you, Lieutenant, so don't try to escape while I'm on the phone."

"Don't tell me that," Miller snorted.

"Right," Elisabeth realized. She lifted her suitcase and walked out of the corridor, anxious. She had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

><p>It was seven in the morning when April woke up. There was noise in the kitchen and she would have liked to have known it was Donatello in there, returning after a night of God knew what to take care of her all day. She would have loved it. She had a special bound with each one of her little brothers but only Donatello could make her totally forget about her life. His mind was always racing, there was no time for the past and barely for the present. He always had something to do, a new project to put on paper, a new program to code, a new move to get right. He told her once it was only a <em>fuite en avant<em>, a headlong rush to escape what he didn't want to think about. At that time, April had tried to explain to Donatello there were some problems they had to face even if it hurt and he had given her the weirdest look, as if he had thought she was taking him for an idiot – they knew each other for only a few months back then. Of course, he knew all of that, he had responded, but that didn't stop him from pursuing his own way of doing things. It was a confusing time, a difficult moment of their life, far from home after crazy events, so April hadn't insisted. Now, curled up on the couch, faking being asleep to escape her boyfriend's presence, she wanted badly to run away in her thoughts and she found herself about to cry.

She never got the text from Donatello telling her they were safe at home. If Raphael or Michelangelo had promised her that text, she wouldn't have worried because they both forgot every other time but it wasn't normal for Donatello. He never forgot the "safe at home" text and he knew April could stay awake, waiting for it all night long if needed. Something had happened. April didn't know what and it made her sick. Part of her tears came from the anxiety but she couldn't ignore that the other part was caused by Casey. It wasn't just a bad day. Deep down, she knew she had to do something about the situation but she couldn't bring herself to take action. Casey had no job, where would he go with a two year old little girl? And what kind of shitty job would he end up with anyway? He had no diploma and, let's be honest, not the biggest brain around. That was what April regretted the most about him. They couldn't talk about anything. He never opened a book and only watched sports on television. Their discussions were superficial, meaningless.

It had been enough, four years ago, in that shit hole of Northampton. The Turtles were so focused on themselves that April only had Casey to turn to to not end up crazy. She had worked as a waitress more to get out of the angst pit than anything else and her chit-chat with Casey after her shifts had made her stupidly laugh. He was charming alright. His caveman act and his muscular body had made her head light and fuzzy more than once but she needed more than that in a man. She didn't want to be a damsel in distress; she was perfectly capable of standing on her own. And she needed to talk with her companion, talk about books, politics, ideas, _life_. That's a hard thing to do when you didn't have one.

"Babe? You awake?"

Shit, April thought. Shit, shit, shit. She must have sniffed too loud. She could still fake being asleep but Casey would come sooner or later around the couch and shake her gently. If it wasn't him, it would be Shadow at some point. April swallowed her tears and sat up on the couch, trying to put the mess of her hair in order.

"Want some coffee?" Casey asked from the kitchen.

"Yeah," April answered. "Yeah, sure."

Hello to you too, she thought as she stood up. She grabbed the remote on the coffee table and turn on the television. It would make the noise she didn't want to make. She was pretty sure she couldn't talk at the moment without crying. She should have listen to Leonardo and take his offer to sleep at the Lair, even if she never really could accommodate the smell in there. Maybe he would have called off the meeting with Karai and they would have spent the night all together in a blanket fort. She was pretty sure Donatello would have built the best blanket fort ever, with a strong internal structure to resist his brothers' bickering. They would be all together, safe, far away from any worry.

Casey approached her with a coffee mug and April felt her throat tighten. What was wrong with her? She had spent three years with this man, sharing every moment, every meal, even her bed. How could she suddenly not stand his presence around her anymore? She had loved him. She knew it. At some point, Casey had been there for her and that should counterbalance what she had felt recently for him. And he loved her! How could she do this to him? April turned her head, tears in her eyes, and walked straight to the bathroom. There, she turned the water on in the shower, sat down on the toilet and silently let her tears fall.

It took her ten minutes to recover her calm and five more to make herself decent. Her eyes were still red but she could blame it on a bad night on the couch. If Casey asked why she had slept on the couch, she'd say Donatello had promised to come back to tell her in person everything was all right and she hadn't wanted Casey to be awaken by the visit – he hated when the guys caught him defenseless. It was a lie but that was better than the truth. Just thinking of it, she felt her eyes burn from hot tears again and April splashed her face with cold water once more. She then looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. She would eat breakfast and head to the Lair. If the guys were alive and well, they would be sleeping by now but Splinter would listen to her. He would probably make her tea and advise her to meditate but it was better than staying home all day or going out once more.

April walked to the kitchen, the television broadcasting some news channel, bright blue and red everywhere. She noticed something important was going on but it could wait. She had to face breakfast so April sat down at the table, took her mug, blew on it twice, took a sip and burned her tongue. April put the mug back on the table, her determination a little damaged. Casey wasn't in the kitchen. She couldn't hear him over the television but he must have been in Shadow's bedroom, waking her up. Behind April, the controlled voice of the female lead of the news was buzzing but she started paying attention to it eventually.

"_… already rise: where do they come from? What are they? Are they dangerous?_"

There was some sort of very dramatic jingle and a certain Paul Newman told Jessica Something there was a new development in the story.

"_Yes Paul, we are listening_," Jessica encouraged him.

"_Yes, Jessica, as you know, I am in Red Hook in front of __the __seventy-sixth precinct on Union Street and we were just informed that the mutants would be moved any minute now._"

April froze.

"_We will try_," Paul continued as April stood up and ran to the living room, "_I say try, to have a good look at them but the officers made us back fifty feet off so I'm not sure it will be possible, but be sure we will do our best to document this historic day._"

"_Than__k__..._" started Jessica but Paul kept talking about this incredible event.

All April could see on the television was a crowd barely contained by policemen around a beige shitty building. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and she could barely breathe.

"_Thank you, Paul,_" Jessica insisted as the reporter's small window was reduced in a corner and muted. The beautiful blond Jessica was smiled for the audience. "_Welcome, if you just joined us,_" she dramatically said. "_Today's main news: teenage mutant ninja turtles discovered in New York..._"

All April could do was cry.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>

**Title: **"Le fond du trou" is a saying for "to hit rock bottom", being at the lowest point. "Le trou" (the hole) is also slang for a prison, a cell.

**Note:** for Gordon Miller, see Tales of TMNT vol.2 #36


	3. Matières dangereuses

**A/N:** The story is based on Mirage Comics volume 1 but is technically an AU as the timeline isn't respected. The events takes place nowadays.  
>Each chapter has a cover. You can find it on my tumblr (check the Neververse tag) or on DeviantArt.<br>**Beta-reader:** SadoraNortica  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M for adult themes, violence and such.

* * *

><p><strong>Neververse<strong>  
><em>Chapter 3<br>Matières dangereuses_

It was hard to tell why they had chosen her instead of one of the many volunteers for that job. Jeanne hadn't applied for it, to tell the truth, but she had her idea nonetheless. Her old mentor had been the second to interact with the subjects – well, the second specialist to try anyway – and he must have recommended her. It had to be as simple as that. Jeanne was the fifth to make the attempt and she wondered what she could possibly do to make them talk. From what she knew, the mutants had been mostly silent for the last month.

The Saint Cecile Institute was all that would be expected from a high security facility in some Frank Miller's comic. It was dark, impressive, made to inspire fear and repentance. To add to the dramatic display of high fences with barbed wire rolls on top, Jeanne arrived in a taxi during a fantastic thunderstorm, transforming the early afternoon into a very good end of the world imitation. By the time she had crossed the many gates and security checks, she was wet and chilled to the bones. Her curly hair would be an interesting mess later.

The interior was as melodramatic as the surroundings. Trims and statues vied with each other in a grotesque way over a psychedelic black and white tiled floor. With a sudden flash of light immediately followed by the growls of the skies, darkness fell upon the main hall. Soon tortured howls and hisses crawled out of the depths of the institute.

"Mrs. Sparrow," a joyful voice called from her right.

Jeanne turned to see a short round guy in his seventies in a dark corridor behind heavy grates, followed by two gorillas in white pajamas with flashlights. Some other guards, just as wide and impressive, opened a door for her and quickly locked it behind her as soon as she passed them.

"Professor Sparrow," Jeanne corrected as she presented her hand.

"Professor, naturally," the old man sort of apologized as he shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Professor Smith highly recommended you. He believes you are the key to the mind of our strange tenants."

"I don't know about that," Jeanne responded frankly as she looked around her nervously. "Isn't the power down a problem?"

"Not at all, my dear," the old man smiled. "Each block has its own generator with its own grid and each cell's circuit is independent from the others, plus, of course, all the necessary precautions as secondary circuits and proper derivations. No, my dear, you have nothing to fear, each and every one of our tenants, human or not, is incapable of escaping." He seemed pretty satisfied of his phrasing. "Unfortunately, the administrative wing didn't receive the same care and we often have problems with thunderstorms. It adds to the melodramatic of our beloved old lady, don't you think?"

"Yes it does, Doctor Cox."

"Please, call me Edward, my dear."

Jeanne faked a convincing smile and followed the director for a tour of the institute as the lights came back. The "old lady's" first life had been one of a nursing home more than a century ago, then an asylum a few decades later but some of her more recent owners, fearing the decreasing financial aid from the government for the depressed, the mentally challenged or insane, had turned this place in a high security prison for special guests with special needs. Jeanne rapidly learned that those needs principally consisted in isolation and high medication. No wonder why no hospital was working with Saint Cecile even if her collection of serial killers and other fascinating cases was impressive: her tenants were too drugged to be of any interest for studies.

Jeanne ended up in Cox's office, as baroque as she had imagined it during the tour, enormous fireplace and all in its rightful place. She was offered a deceiving cup of bagged tea but, to be fair, Cox's coffee seemed to smell like Heaven for anyone interested in such beverage. And, of course, he was smoking a cigar. At this point, Jeanne already had no pity for the expensive carpet on which her trench-coat was slowly dripping. Edward Cox was a prick, a faux dandy trying to charm a woman the age of his daughter, a woman with whom he would work with. One would need to have a doctor degree at minimum to have his consideration and he only had respect for his own work. The "tenants" were nothing more than scums and freaks. Jeanne wondered how the mutants had ended up here as she half-listened to the wonders Cox had naturally discovered during his career. Probably because of the security system. Saint Cecile never had seen one of her prisoners escape. Never. It was a solid argument to consider when giant mutated turtles strong as bulls claimed they could get out of any cell.

To Jeanne's knowledge, thought, they didn't try to escape. She was pretty sure Cox would have told the press that his dear Old Lady had successfully contained those dangerous mutants if they had tried to get out of her. He was the kind to like the attention. Jeanne believed a good patrician should always be discrete and silent about his cases. If she was to make some progress with the mutants, she'd have a hard time keeping Cox quiet. He would take all the credit, most likely. That was fine. Jeanne wasn't there for the glory. She had accepted the job offer because her mentor had told her something interesting about those mutants. "They study us as much as we study them." He had added later on the phone: "I'm too old for this crap."

It was already four in the afternoon when Jeanne was finally introduce to her new office. It was an office alright, with four walls and a window, a desk and a chair, even an old computer from the nineties and a lamp. It looked more like a closet though and it made her smile.

"Is something wrong?" Cox asked from the corridor. There was barely enough space for a single person in the office.

"I thought I'd have a bigger office," Jeanne responded with her usual honesty. It didn't please Cox, too used to ruling everything and being given amends for his every decision.

"Don't you have an office at Colombia, Mrs. Sparrow?"

"Yes, and another one in Quantico if you want to know everything," she reminded him. "I know I won't spend all my time here and I know you think I won't stay long enough to actually use an office but I need more space."

"You won't receive any patients in your office," Cox said coldly.

"Of course I will." Cox seemed particularly disappointed. He tried to look bigger than he was for a second before visibly remembering he had to act like nothing bothered him. That was the problem when people of their profession met: they hated being observed by a college. "I count on you to supervise the security details," Jeanne added to temper the little guy's mood. "You're the expert, after all."

Cox gave her a look that told her he knew what she was doing but he had to play the game anyway. Jeanne was the fourth to come, the fifth to try to communicate with the turtles since their incarceration. Results were expected of her and Cox. Without it, the fat check from the government would go elsewhere and the mutants too. Cox couldn't let that happen.

"Very well," Cox agreed. "I will foresee to a new office at your convenience. It should be ready within a few days if you'd be kind enough to give instructions to my secretary. Now, shall I call a taxi for you? I fear you'd get stuck in traffic for hours if you don't leave this early."

"It's not a problem. I'd like to see the turtles, actually."

"Of course," Cox agreed with a forced smile. "Those gentlemen will accompany you. Good evening, Mrs. Sparrow."

"Good evening, Mr. Cox," Jeanne responded politely.

The turtles were in the most secured place of the prison, in the cold heart of Saint Cecile: underground, in a small corridor behind so many grates and locks it looked ridiculous. In a small compartment between grates, Jeanne could count twenty heavily armed guards waiting for the hours to pass, playing cards or watching television. No book around. Books were so vulgar, you wouldn't want to frequent one.

Ten heavy doors were aligned in the corridor, five on each side. There was no sign to indicate who was where but Jeanne didn't have to wonder. Four of the guards came with her and stopped before a door with a small window shut down.

"We're not going to open it," a guard told her. His tag indicated he was the chief of the gang. Renard was his last name but he looked nothing like a fox. He was a titan with dark skin. "Only Doctor Cox can give that order."

"How am I supposed to talk to them, then?" Jeanne asked innocently.

"That's not gonna happen today, ma'am." Jeanne nodded. She'd have to wait, indeed, but she didn't really mind. Patience was necessary in her job. "In case you're wondering," the guard continued, "the door is secured by hydraulic jacks. It's like a very big vault, not even C4 can damage it. They can't reach the door anyway because it's five feet from heavy iron grates with electromagnetic locks and behind that there is a four inches thick military glass window. Even Temper can't break it."

"Temper?"

"The big one with all the scars," Renard said, pointing to another cell. "Here you have Chief. Never talks, unless he's asking news from his brothers. In this one, Freckles. A little bitch, this one, you never know if he's mocking you or not. And in the last one, over there, is Stoic. Sleeps most of the time, like he hibernates or something. Hey Josh, is he awake?"

"Nope," Josh responded from behind the grates. "'been four days but the record is five."

"I thought they had Italian names," Jeanne said.

"I don't know," Renard responded with a shrug. "Maybe. Doesn't matter. Doctor Cox calls them like that now. He says it's important to use only one name to not confuse them or something like that."

Jeanne nodded. Cox had been the first to try to talk to the turtles once they had ended up here. If he had started with renaming them and therefore depriving them of their identity, it wasn't a surprise the mutants weren't cooperating. Jeanne had to find their real names before anything else.

The guard slid the window open and took a step back. Jeanne was small enough to have the pleasure to stand on tiptoes. The cell was harshly lighted with cold neon and the walls were of a dirty white but the floor and all looked clean. The bed faced the door. On it was "Chief", naked, cross-legged, eyes shut, seemingly relaxed, as if he wasn't in a fifty foot square box. It looked like he was meditating. His prisoner uniform was neatly folded and used as a second pillow on one side of the bed. The only other distraction in the room was a small toilet devoid of all intimacy. No desk, no book, no window, nothing.

Jeanne returned to the ground and nodded. The guards closed the window, checked the locks and escorted her to Freckles' cell. The mutant was currently doing push-ups legs up in the air, facing the door, also naked. Jeanne caught a glimpse of blue irises but white membranes quickly hid his eyes. He gave her a wink with a smart little smirk and kept doing his push-ups like it was no effort at all.

"They do that a lot," the guard said over Jeanne's shoulder. "Push-ups and stuff."

"For long?" Jeanne asked as she stepped back.

"Hours," Renard said, shutting the window and moving to the next cell across the corridor. "Heck, I don't know how they can do it. I mean, I hit the gym three times a week, you know, for my job and all, and I run and do stuff on my own but that's eight, nine hours a week, right? Those mutants, they can do that all day and all night and then even after they're not tired and won't sleep for hours. Well, 'cept for Stoic. Stoic sleeps all the time. See for yourself."

Stoic was under his cover and was apparently wearing the beige uniform of Saint Cecile's tenants. He was facing the wall in a fetal position, on his right side. Jeanne could barely see the top of his head. That was an odd behavior considering the three others'. If Renard was correct, the mutants had a fierce mind, they kept training, they refused the uniforms and acted like nothing could scratch their determination. Why is it that Stoic – what a stupid name – had stopped? Why wasn't he trying to fight back? Was he the "weak" one of the team, the first to break? Cox certainly thought so but Jeanne didn't want to jump to conclusions. His attitude could also be a middle finger to the institution. "I will not give you anything to analyze from me."

A dim pounding sound was coming from Temper's cell and Jeanne soon had the visual confirmation that Temper was indeed punching a wall of his cell, as if it was a heavy bag of sand. He had made two rudimentary boxing gloves out of his uniform to protect his knuckles but even with that it was pretty clear he had bled. His punches had created a four inches deep hole in the concrete, revealing the metal underneath.

"Impressive, huh?" Renard said. "I wouldn't pick up a fight with this guy."

Temper stopped and glanced in their direction. He raised his chin up high and sniffed, not even bothering to hide his eyes behind the white membranes. They were of a bright yellow, cold and arrogant. Fierce. This one wouldn't be easy to talk to.

Renard slid the window and showed the way out to Jeanne. She noticed the TV screens in the compartment for the garrison showing the interior of the cells.

"Do you record everything?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am, twenty-four hours a day, no break."

"No intimacy."

The chief of the guards looked at her with a poor smile. He felt compassion for his prisoners, Jeanne understood, maybe only for the turtles. The newspapers didn't tell a lot about the mutants actually. Few people knew they had been trained to kill and Renard must have been told so that he and his men could be ready for anything. He knew but he still sympathized with the prisoners. That meant the conditions of their detention were pretty bad.

"Can you accompany me upstairs, Mr. Renard?" Jeanne asked. "I fear I'm not familiar with the institute yet."

"Of course, ma'am. This way, please."

He gave some general orders over his shoulder to show that he was in charge and preceded Jeanne through stairs, corridors and more heavy grates.

"So, Mr. Renard," Jeanne began without any kind of warning, "the mutants are not even allowed an hour outside per day, if I understand correctly."

The guard stiffened and looked uneasy.

"You should talk about that with the Doc, ma'am. I'm just a security guy, I don't make decisions, you know?"

"And I don't blame you," Jeanne reassured him. "I'm just curious. Why aren't they allowed to go for a walk one hour per day?"

"Doctor Cox's order," Renard hesitated. "They're not humans, he says, and we must be extra careful. It's better to not give them the opportunity to escape."

"Did they try?"

"Yeah, Temper tried. They can't grab someone 'cause of the space between the door, the grate and the glass in the cell and he figured it out immediately so he clogged the toilets with his uniform and we had to move him to another cell 'cause of the flood. Could have been worse, could have been shit or something but they don't use that, thank God. They're pretty clean actually. Freckles often asks for five minutes in a shower."

"You were talking about Temper's attempt to escape," Jeanne reminded the guard.

"Ah, right, sorry. So, yeah, he clogged the toilets and we moved him to another cell with all the security required, chains and all. I wasn't there, it was my day off, but I heard he put five guys in the infirmary in a second and they had to shoot him with tranquilizers, like, a huge amount of the stuff. After that, he knew the toilet trick wouldn't work anymore on us so he just tried to break the glass and dig a hole in the wall. He's super strong, you know, but even he can't do that kind of thing without being hurt."

"He broke his hand."

"Yeah, the left one. Bloody mess."

"Didn't he try to use that opportunity to escape once more?"

"What opportunity?" Renard asked, unsure.

"Well, the care administrated," she said and the guard looked uneasy again. "He didn't receive proper care," Jeanne understood.

"Doctor Cox feared Temper'd try something," Renard confirmed. "We still gave him bandages and stuff, you know, and he patched his wound up himself. It didn't stop him from punching the wall though."

"You refer to him as a he," Jeanne noted to change the subject. It was evident that Renard felt bad about the treatment the turtles were receiving, no need to go further on the subject.

"It's pretty clear he's a he," the guard said. "It's not like we've watched them do stuff, right?" he added nervously. "They refer to themselves as males, you know, and they just don't look like females! And Pete says they're males anyway 'cause their plastron is curved inside or something."

"I'm not sure I understand," Jeanne admitted.

"Pete is, like, an expert in reptiles," Renard explained, a little worry in his posture. "He lives with snakes and nasty stuff. No wonder he has no girlfriend, the guy is a creep."

On those words of wisdom, they passed through the final gate and were in the main hall. The place was brightly lighted by this time but it didn't help at all. The statues looked more like gargoyles now that Jeanne could see them clearly.

"You refer to them as 'he' too, you know?" Renard commented as Jeanne gave another worried look to the hall – God, she had to work here.

"Yes, I do. They deserve it. They are sentient individuals, after all." To what point, that was what she had to determine.

"Yeah, I guess they are. Well, ma'am, like I told you, only Doctor Cox can give us the green light to open the door if you want to talk to them face to face. Please, remember that. I don't want any trouble."

"Do I look like I'm trouble?" Jeanne smirked.

"Yes ma'am," Renard answered with a brilliant smile. "Doctor Cox likes his papers and stuff so we'll only open the doors if you have a magic sesame with you. It's a green form. Stamp and signature, alright?"

"I'll remember, yes. What if I decide to talk to my patients in my office? Do I need to inform you early enough for you and your men to prepare security details?"

Renard winced.

"I, huh, yeah, that'd be okay, I guess, but I don't think it's a good idea, honestly. And Doctor Cox won't agree, you know?"

"He will, eventually," Jeanne responded. "Another question and I'll let you go. Where can I find the recordings?"

"Of what? Oh, the cams! Yeah, that. It's in Doctor Cox's safe, in his office. Ask his secretary for an authorization and you should have them in a day or two."

"This is ridiculous," Jeanne snorted and Renard agreed with her with an embarrassed smile.

"Well, it is what it is. Journalists often come to snoop around and we have orders to contain the mutants and to also protect them from outside. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"I guess."

"Do you remember where Doctor Cox's office is?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Well, see you around, ma'am."

Jeanne smiled, secretly relieved to know Renard wasn't a bad guy after all. She had feared he would be a dick overwhelmed by the little power he had – it was so human – but he was genuinely concerned by his work. And Cox's decisions seemed to bother him a little. That was good.

Cox's secretary looked like one of the gargoyles in the main hall and she was approximately as old as the institute itself. She was gray and livid, invisible, a piece of furniture like the others. Jeanne felt terrible for not having noticed her the first time she had stepped into the antechamber of Cox's office. She made sure to be polite but determined in all her demands and walked out of there with the feeling she'd have nothing to do the next day. Any administration had to be slow processing demands. It was written somewhere in the rules of the Universe.

And the Universe didn't change how it worked for Jeanne overnight. Nothing was ready for her and her tiny office rapidly made her felt claustrophobic. She headed for the underground, a notebook in hand. That was sort of a box too but a much bigger box. She couldn't talk to the mutants yet nor watch the past recordings of the surveillance videos but there was no rule against her watching them from the compartment before the corridor where they were incarcerated. Renard warmly welcomed her and made sure she had a decent chair and everything she could possibly want, good tea included.

Stoic slept all day, making some of the guards happy because of their bets on a possible new record. The others were awake when Jeanne started to watch them and they occupied their day with different exercises such as push-ups, flips, stretching and repeating tirelessly martial arts movements. Chief spent the rest of his day meditating, cross-legged on his bed, still as a rock. Freckles took a nap during the afternoon for twenty minutes, then stayed on his bed, arms behind his head, watching the ceiling, marking a rhythm with his foot. He was thinking, Jeanne decided. Temper punched the wall.

One thing hit Jeanne: no food had been given to the turtles, nor water. When she questioned Renard on the subject, he looked uncomfortable.

"We feed them once every three days," another guard said. This one didn't look concerned at all. 'Cameron' was embroidered on his tag. "But it's a waste of good food."

"They don't eat?" Jeanne asked.

"Nope, not when there are drugs in it anyway."

"Drugs?"

Cameron sensed he had said something bad but it was pretty clear he didn't understand what was wrong within the concept of using drugs. Jeanne turned to Renard. He was embarrassed.

"I told you I'm not in charge," the chief of security said.

"I know. What drugs does Cox put in the food?"

"Don't know," Renard answered. "Never asked. Not my business. But they eat, you know, like fruit and stuff."

"Do they drink enough? They are cold blooded, they depend on external cooling and heating."

"The cells' temperature is under control," a third guy with thick glasses interrupted. It was Pete, as Jeanne had learned in the morning, the reptile expert. He had been fascinated by the video surveillance all day.

"They drink bottled water, yes," Renard added, "only if it's sealed though."

"They can ask for water," Cameron specified. "It's in the rules. We have to give them if they ask. Same goes for covers."

"But not for food."

"So?" Cameron retorted.

"It's just a statement," Jeanne responded calmly but what she had in mind was different. It seemed to her that Cox was starving the mutants, probably in hope of taming them, like animals. Little food meant less energy, less risks for him and his men. And he must have known the turtles wouldn't eat if the food was drugged too. It meant even less food. That was clearly bad treatment.

Calm down, Jeanne told herself. She had no proof for her theory. Saint Cecile was well known for her excessive use of drugs on her patients. It may have been the regular procedure but even so, it didn't smell good. The turtles weren't humans. Exposing them to heavy medication was nothing more than illegal experimenting. They may have been prisoners but they didn't deserve this kind of treatment. They were the first sentient beings Humanity had ever met, in some way – exception made for some animals, like dolphins, rats or crows. They should have been treated like valuable guests, not like freaks.

It could have been worse, Jeanne reminded herself. They could have been cut in half in the hours following their surrender or showed to the world in cages. That didn't mean their current treatment was satisfactory. Even the worst of human scum was allowed to walk out of his cell under heavy surveillance once in a while, or to take a shower. It was a minimum and this minimum wasn't allowed to those sentient beings, who cared for each other, who were proud and fierce and intelligent. It revolted Jeanne.

Cox was already gone when Jeanne went to his office to talk to him about the situation of her patients. His secretary informed her that the videos would be at her disposal from tomorrow and her new office ready the day after, Friday. Jeanne thanked her and went back to the underground in a hurry to catch Renard before the end of his shift.

"Friday afternoon," Jeanne said. "I'll receive the turtles in my office Friday afternoon."

"All at once?" Renard panicked.

"No, of course not," Jeanne reassured him. "Cox would never allow it." She didn't tell the chief of security she feared the turtles would use such an opportunity to get the Hell out of here. To be honest, she wouldn't blame them for trying but she wasn't eager to be the only obstacle between them and freedom. She may be a little silly and witty but she wasn't out of her mind either. She had to be careful.

"Do you have authorization?" Renard asked.

"I'll have it by Friday afternoon," Jeanne smiled, "so get ready."

She wished the guard a good evening and hasted out of Saint Cecile. She had some homework to do.

* * *

><p>It was raining once more on New York. A cup of tea in her hands, April was looking through the window, watching the rain fall and trying to focus on its sound. It seemed chaotic but there was regularity in it, there was a pattern. It was difficult to find it but it existed. So believed Donatello anyway, her sweet Donnie who liked to observe the world and deduce its mechanisms. He could sit somewhere and watch his surroundings for hours, like Leonardo was capable of meditating from sunrise to sunset. They often spent their free time like that when the whole family was in Northampton. They'd sit shell against shell in the sun and contemplate within, or around, for hours, not talking, just sharing the presence of the other. It was comforting, Donatello had told her once, knowing that Leonardo would be with him, within reach, if anything had to happen. Donatello hated to be left alone. They all hated it. In brotherhood was security, friendship and love.<p>

Robyn had come from California. April never would have imagined that her big sister would have come to the rescue but Robyn was there, in New York City, for real. She had landed a few hours after she had heard the news about her little sister's troubles. It was strange. April hadn't seen her since her own trip to Los Angeles a few years ago, when she had needed time and space to think about her life. With the death of their father, April had figured that she'd only hear from her sister around Christmas and birthdays but there she was, flesh and bones in the living room, arguing with Miller like there was no tomorrow. They both had a solid character and each of their meetings ended up like that. April had learned to shut her mouth and wait for the storm to go away, like Beth did. Casey was also watching in silence, on the other sofa, while Shadow and Trevor, Robyn's son, played in the little girl's room.

April and Casey had made love a few days after the boys' arrest and the troubles following. She had been a mess ever since that morning when she had heard the news and only Casey's kisses and caresses had stopped her tears and cries. She had felt protected and loved after days of questioning and harassment from the journalists, the police, or simply the good people of New York. She couldn't get out of her apartment without being watched or talked to. She was the freak who knew the freaks, in the best of cases. So, when Casey had taken her in his arms, she didn't try to escape the familiar embrace. He had kissed her on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips and she had abandoned herself to his good care.

April wasn't proud of herself. She felt like she was using Casey once more for comfort, even if she didn't feel the same way about him as he did about her. He loved her. She liked him. She felt like the worst person on Earth.

The doorbell rang and the heated argument between Miller and Robyn stopped. April hadn't heard her doorbell in a while, thanks to the Lieutenant who had placed two policemen at the building's entrance to insure the security of the O'Neil-Jones family, and four others were around, in civil clothes, waiting in their car, but ready to intervene at any time. It had been necessary after the third window was broken by a rock and all the threatening letters in the mailbox.

Miller went straight to the door, as if he lived there, and opened it with caution. One of the policemen standing at the front door apologized for the interruption but it was important. Someone insisted on meeting Mrs. O'Neil, some professor in psychiatry. That didn't sound good. April would have said no and gone back to her bad mood but Miller let the professor enter. It was a small woman with short curly brown hair. She had glasses and was wearing a relaxed set of camisole and ribbed velor pants in last fall's colors. April would have given her forty-five years, top. Beth recognized her instantaneously. Beth seemed to know everyone in New York. It was certainly handy in her job.

"Professor Sparrow, what a surprise!" she saluted the new guest.

"Not really," the psychiatrist said. "I certainly am not the first to come see Mrs. O'Neil."

"Depending on why you're here, you may be," Robyn intervened, back in her role of big sister protecting the little one. She reminded April of Leonardo, also so prompt to protect his brothers. But Leonardo was much more composed. Robyn was in fact a strange mix of Leonardo and Raphael. She had the quick temper of the last.

"I am in charge of evaluating the turtles' degree of consciousness," Sparrow explained. "And I need your help, Mrs. O'Neil."

April blinked. She knew her boys were in prison somewhere and Beth had told her some experts were trying to determinate if they were of any danger but it was the first time one of said experts came to her. She shook herself and decided it was a good sign. April invited the professor to sit and offered her some tea. Once her cup was filled, Sparrow explained she had been hired the previous day on recommendation of her mentor, Professor Smith, to work on the Turtles' case. April knew about the guy, he had been on the news for quitting his position after only a day of observing the Turtles. Prior to that, a certain Doctor Cox had tried to communicate with them for two weeks, with no result. There had been two others but none of those four had come to April.

Sparrow detailed her day watching her patients and gave her impression of the treatments they received. It was pretty clear she was upset about it and April was relieved to know it. Sparrow hadn't been in direct contact with the boys yet but she cared for their condition. It had to be a good sign.

"That's illegal," Beth said, furiously writing details in her notebook. "I'll sue the shit out of that Cock dude."

"Cox," Sparrow corrected.

"Oh he certainly is a dick," Beth snorted.

It made April smile a little. She had no difficulties understanding why Michelangelo had a crush on this woman. He always had a thing for strong women and Beth was one. She also was beautiful from April's point of view, with her endless legs and her slim figure. It certainly helped the little perv.

"The guys've seen worse," Casey intervened. "Master Splinter's always been hard on them."

April nodded. She had had glimpses of their sessions during their year in Northampton and the boys often complained to her about training. She knew they exaggerated and liked to be pitied by her – they sometimes could get a hug out of it – but that didn't mean the truth wasn't harsh either. Splinter's training was often exhausting, even if he had mellowed over the years, from Leonardo's point of view.

April hadn't had news from Splinter since the boys' arrest. He wasn't answering the phone, neither at the Lair or at Northampton. It hadn't been possible for April or Casey to go to the Lair to see if the old rat was still there but they had asked Steve to take a ride to the farm. No sign of Splinter there. April knew the master was hard to kill and she didn't really worry about him but she would have liked to hear from him. She would have liked Splinter to care a little more for his sons.

"It's good to know," Sparrow nodded. "I am going to see them individually on Friday afternoon and I would like some details, Mrs. O'Neil. The Doctor Cox renamed them but I refuse to employ such names. It's disrespectful."

"Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael and Michelangelo," April said. "Don't use any nickname if they don't give you permission. They hate it."

"Nicknames are for friends and family," Sparrow understood and she wrote it on her notebook. "Which one is which? I don't ask you for any personality trait, I will find that out by myself, but a physical description would help."

"Oh, sure. They look alike if you don't know them but they all have different eye colors."

"If they show them," Miller snorted.

"Yeah..." April agreed. "Anyway, Leo has black eyes, Donnie's are red, Mikey's blue and Raph's yellow."

"I have seen who Michelangelo and Raphael are, then," Sparrow said, still writing.

"Leo has a mole under his left eye," April added.

"A mole?"

"Well, we call that a mole but it's more like a black scale, I guess. It's like Mikey's freckles. He just has more colored spots than his brothers on his skin. But it depends on their exposition to sunlight. They kind of tan, actually. The more they're out, the more you see patterns on their skin. It gets darker."

Sparrow arched an eyebrow but kept writing in her notebook.

"I know it sounds silly," April hesitated, "but it's actually true."

"I guess their biology is also fascinating," Sparrow smiled her back, "but that it's not my domain. Any distinctive mark on the others? Scars, maybe? They seem to each have a lot of them."

"They never stay long," April responded. "The guys heal pretty fast and scars come and go on their skin. On the plastron, the skin is thicker and it takes longer to disappear, months."

"And on the shell?"

"It takes years to grow back but Donnie has developed some sort of glue to fill the holes. It's brown so you really have to pay attention to see the scars."

"The best way to know the difference between them is their attitude," Casey intervened.

"Thank you Mr. Jones but I want to form my own idea of my patients."

"Oh. Sure."

"Start with Leo," April suddenly advised. "Your interviews. Start with Leo. He'll give you a hard time considering the situation but he's the leader of the team and he'll appreciate if you respect their hierarchy."

Sparrow stopped her pen for a second, as if she hesitated to write that recommendation down, but noted it in the end.

"I see. Which one is the second in command?" Sparrow asked.

"Donatello. Raphael and Michelangelo have no rank that I know of."

"Do they all obey Leonardo?"

"Leo ain't a tyrant," Casey interrupted. "He listens to his bros."

"If I were to ask Leonardo to give an order to his brothers to answer my questions and cooperate," Sparrow rephrased her query, "will his brothers obey?"

"No," April answered. "He's not their boss off the battlefield."

"Even in this kind of situation?"

April nodded. Sparrow noted.

"Does the eldest have some kind of authority over the others?" Sparrow asked.

"No one is the eldest," April explained. "They don't care about that. I think they know that there is only a slight chance they're actually related by blood, or they suspect it, but it doesn't matter to them. They're brothers but there is no eldest and no youngest."

"Leo and Raph kinda act like big bros though," Casey added. "Mikey and Don are more carefree. Actually, you're the big sis, April."

"I guess I am," April poorly smiled. What a big sister. She couldn't do anything for her little brothers when they needed her. She had tried, she had done everything she could think of but that hadn't been enough. They had been dragged out of their cell to that institution and it was a two-hour drive away. She wasn't allowed to see them and she was under investigation to top it off. _Dissimulation of hazardous material_. It was a freaking nightmare.

Sparrow's attention was focused on her when April got back to reality. She didn't like it and got off the couch to go to the kitchen. She put water to boil to make a fresh pot of tea. The discussion continued in the living room.

"What can I bring with me Friday that they'd eat?" Sparrow asked. "I suppose they'll think I'm trying to coax them with food but, given the situation, I'm willing to take the risk. Even if they seem to not suffer from Cox's treatment, they must be hungry."

"They eat like you and me," Casey answered.

"No allergies?"

"Nope, don't think so. I've never seen them sick, from what they eat or anything else, and I know for a fact that Raph has an iron stomach. The guy can gulp red pepper without a flinch and ask for more, but Raph likes spices. Don't ever try his curry. It's like Hell dancing the rumba all over your mouth and it gets uglier by the minute."

"I will try to remember that. Anything else?"

"Don and Mike like candies and sweets in general. Leo is more into salted and sour stuff. He'd kill for some vinegar chips. Well, not really kill but, you know..."

"I don't think bringing junk food will help," Sparrow said. "They may appreciate it but they need more nutritious food considering the situation."

"Anything'd do, then."

"Very good. I think I have all I needed," the professor announced. "Thank you for your time."

"Would you care for another cup of tea?" April asked as she stepped in the living room.

"Thank you for the offer but it's rather late and I don't want to disturb you any longer." Sparrow stood up. "I have something else to tell you, nonetheless, Mrs. O'Neil and Mr. Jones. I came to you to facilitate my work but that doesn't mean I am on the turtles' side. I was mandated to do a hard job and I'll do it. Their detention conditions are not fair, that is all I can assure you for the moment. If I find out that your friends are a danger to society, I will do what I can to be sure they won't do harm to anybody but their life conditions will improve. That, I can promise. They are not animals and they do not deserve to be treated like they are."

"I understand," April responded, cold to the bones.

"Would you testify for mistreatment if my firm was to sue Doctor Cox?" Beth asked innocently.

"I will," Sparrow ensured and Beth had the cheeriest smile April had ever seen, the bad kind of happy, the kind that roared _vengeance_. "But not until I have accomplished what I have to do at Saint Cecile," the professor added. "Your intervention could be counterproductive. I will offer you evidence. Just let me do my job first."

"You better hurry, then," Robyn concluded.

Sparrow nodded and politely took her leave.

"And Team Turtles counts a new member!" Beth acclaimed, fist in the air.

"Don't be so sure of it," Miller snorted. "She hasn't met them yet."

She shouldn't have laughed but April did anyway. Like often lately, tears weren't far away from laughter so she was careful not to tumble into her bad mood again. Nonetheless, Miller was right. It would be really easy for the boys to fuck their chance with Sparrow. April would have liked to warn them but it was impossible. She had no way to communicate with the Turtles. Not one. Not even a secret code or anything, and Sparrow would probably refuse to deliver any message anyway. April's throat tightened and she felt her eyes burning. She used all the tea she had drunk to excuse her to the bathroom, and locked herself in the tilled room. There, she slid against the door and sat on the cold floor, gathering what little remained of her strength. She didn't know how she was supposed to face tomorrow or the day after, the hearings, the press, Casey or anything else but she knew one thing for sure: if the boys fucked their chance with Sparrow, all of that wouldn't matter. She'd personally kick their ass to Hell.

* * *

><p>Jeanne took a deep breath and opened her eyes, trying to find every mistake at the first glance. She had the door of her new office on her back, the wall just to her left. On her right, a long and low chest of drawers, empty at the moment but she had brought a pair of colored vases and matryoshka dolls unfolded on the dark wood to light it up a little. On her far right, between the chest of drawers and the wall, shelves awaited, filled with some books borrowed from Saint Cecile's library. The right wall had two windows with a view on a courtyard heavily protected with barbed wire, fences and turrets. The view wasn't great, especially because of the big steel bars in front of the windows. They also were made of that thick military glass impossible to break. No turtle was going to escape by those windows.<p>

Her desk was large and dark, like everything made out of wood in the office. It was impressive, made to clearly state who was in charge. Jeanne was given a decent computer but it was more for the show than anything – it wasn't even connected to the Internet. She had decided to not leave her notes on the turtles at Saint Cecile. She would order her daily lines in the comfort of her home and keep everything in her own safe until the end of her duty. That was the right thing to do. She knew Saint Cecile's security was good but she feared Cox's interference. Jeanne didn't want the doctor's nose in her files, he had done enough damage as it was, and she also could collect mistreatment evidences like that.

The left wall was devoid of any decoration, exception made for the old sage paint on it and a small pedestal with what was necessary in order to make good tea. Her office wasn't warmhearted at all but she didn't have time to repaint it. The space had been a staff restroom in another life, with its own toilets behind a door on the left side. It was situated between two control gates leading to the east wing, on the second floor. It was Renard's idea. Even if the turtles could escape through the door, they would be trapped between the grates and guards would be waiting for them. There wasn't any other room around, except for a condemned closet.

The office was sparse, even with the two old velvet coated chair she had found in the attic earlier that morning. Jeanne also had brought back from upstairs a coffee table that seemed to come straight from the seventies. The room was too dark and dusty for her taste but that would have to do. It was lunch time already and Leonardo would be at her door at one PM sharp. She didn't have time to do better.

Jeanne ate in her office while reviewing a paper from one of the graduates she was following with interest. She then made some tea, prepared two cups and put a variety of fruit, tea biscuits and sugar on the coffee table. Jeanne made sure her blouse was still immaculate in the mirror of the little bathroom before waiting, sitting on her desk.

Renard knocked on the door at one PM, as planned. Behind him was Leonardo, looking small surrounded by the guards who stayed out, wearing his beige uniform as requested, handcuffed and chained. His eyes were covered by the white membranes but Jeanne knew he was scanning the room, like she did a few moments ago. The vases. The chairs. The computer screen. The electric water boiler. Some electric wires. Weapons. He knew it. She knew it. She hoped he wouldn't try anything.

"Ok, Leonardo," Renard began as he took keys out of his chest pocket. "The professor's office is a handcuff free-zone. Don't try to escape. See those windows? You can't break 'em. Your only way out is through that door and those gates we passed. We'll be waiting there with the guys. We're armed and we got real ammunition. If you get out of this room alone, you'll be a sitting duck ready for the slaughter, understood? And if you try anything in here, the professor just has to press one button and we'll be on your ass in the second. But I know you won't do anything to the lady. She's a nice one, you'll see." Renard winked to Jeanne. He then unlocked the handcuff and took off the chains as well. "I'll be back in one hour."

Leonardo nodded as he rubbed his wrist and Renard left. Suddenly, the turtle seemed to occupy much more space. He was taller than Jeanne by at least four inches, and much larger. She evaluated his weight around two hundred and twenty pounds, at least. He seemed to be made out of muscles only. Jeanne was impressed and they both knew it but she didn't let it be an advantage for the mutant. She offered him a sit. Leonardo chose the chair with a view of the door and one of the window – the second may have been in his field of vision, she didn't know. It didn't surprise her. Jeanne gave Leonardo a cup of tea before sitting herself.

"This interview will be recorded," Jeanne announced, "sound only." Leonardo nodded. Jeanne let it pass. "Before we start, I'd like to tell you that the doctor Cox won't have access to my files. I am in charge, not him. He can do or say whatever he wants to, but my word will be final. He may rule this institute and give you and your brothers a hard time but his allegations won't matter. And let it be known that I do not approve of his methods. That is why I have brought some food, not for any other reason you could think of."

"Why would I believe you?" Leonardo asked. His voice was a little higher than Jeanne expected but his diction was as good as any other.

"I don't think you have the luxury to do otherwise," Jeanne answered and it was clear her honesty surprised the mutant.

"Fair enough," Leonardo agreed.

He put his cup of tea on the coffee table and took an apple. In three bites, the fruit was gone, core included. Jeanne started recording with her old Dictaphone.

"I am Professor Jeanne Sparrow of Columbia University, psychiatric and behavior expert, mandated to determine if the four recently discovered mutant turtles are capable of normal interactions with society. The day is the third of July 2014..."

"It's the third?" Leonardo interrupted.

"Yes it is."

"Tomorrow's our birthday."

"Oh. I didn't know that," she said and Leonardo shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "More on the subject later," Jeanne decided. "The day is the third of July 2014 and this is the first interview with Leonardo. Mrs. O'Neil told me you and your brothers don't take into consideration a possible variety of age within your family, therefore there isn't an eldest nor a youngest. And, to my knowledge, you never mentioned a family name so I will only refer to you by your name, Leonardo. Is that all right with you?"

"It's okay. How should I address you?"

"However you'd like."

"Very well. So, Professor, you met April." There was a hint of a reproach in his voice.

"Your sister was of great help," Jeanne responded. Leonardo blinked slowly but otherwise he was very still. His hands rested on the chair's arms, his legs were open. He was confident. A little tensed maybe but it was normal. It was evident Leonardo was smart. He had understood fully the situation in an instant and was ready to rumble. With another blink, he retracted his nictitating membranes to reveal coal black eyes. Jeanne couldn't help her small smile. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

><p>It took thirty minutes for Renard to come back with the next turtle after the end of Leonardo's first interview. The chief of security wasn't with Donatello as planned but with Michelangelo, fully dressed as well. They hadn't managed to wake Donatello up yet and Raphael was supposed to be the last one to be brought to Jeanne's office. Michelangelo didn't hide his interest for his surroundings while Renard explained the rules to him. He came to the same conclusions as his brother's: escaping would be very risky and rescuing the three others was impossible anyway. He had no option but to stay in that office for one hour. Michelangelo shrugged to notify he had understood.<p>

Renard freed him and left.

"No camera?" Michelangelo asked before Jeanne could offer him a seat.

"No camera," she confirmed. "I will only record our interviews on audio tapes."

"Why's that?" he continued as he took a few steps in the room, looking around. "Don't want to see our ugly mugs again?"

"I prefer that method. I started to work with audio only and I'm too old to change my ways now."

"You don't look old."

"I'm fifty-three."

"Seriously?" Michelangelo turned to look at her, surprised. His big blue eyes scanned her top to bottom and he then smirked. "I've never fucked someone that old. Wanna try?"

"I am not interested," Jeanne responded. Michelangelo shrugged and kept looking around. He had tried to shock her, to take the upper hand, but he wouldn't succeed with this kind of comment. Jeanne had heard much worse during her life. "Would you like some tea before we begin?" she asked.

"Oh, sure," the mutant said. He pointed the left wall. "What's behind that door?"

"A toilet."

"Oh, cool. No camera in there either?"

"That would be inappropriate."

"Right," he winked. "Totally inappropriate. Kind of perverted, if you want my opinion."

"I agree."

Michelangelo smiled.

"So no video and you didn't start to record anything, huh?"

"Not yet, no."

"I'll use the bathroom then," he announced joyfully as he walked into the small toilets. He locked the door behind him, leaving Jeanne unsure of what was going on. It took her a minute and some muted sounds to understand. Of course, she thought as she sat down, trying to ignore what was going on in there. It had to happen, somehow. They were male, just twenty years of age and they had grown up in a society more inclined to show sexualized bodies than anything else. It was normal, Jeanne decided, and she wrote her theories and conclusions in her notebook during the thirty minutes it took for Michelangelo to be satisfied. He came out of the toilets with a radiant smile and walked to Jeanne, grabbing an orange on the way.

"I washed my hands, don't worry," he told her with a wink. "Do I have to sit? I'm fed up with sitting all day." He came to a quick realization. "Wow, I never imagined I'd say that one day."

"You can stand if you want," Jeanne responded and she then repeated what she had told Leonardo two hours ago: she had nothing to do with their detention conditions, it wasn't up to Cox to give his opinion on their behavior anymore and the food provided wasn't an attempt to coax them. She then started her recording. "The day is the third of July 2014."

"Oh, today's the third?" Michelangelo also interrupted. "Tomorrow's our birthday."

"Interview with Michelangelo," Jeanne added for the record before asking a question that she hadn't address to Leonardo: "Why the fourth of July?"

"We chose that day because of the fireworks," Michelangelo smiled, peeling his orange. "Don and I love it, Raph likes pretty much anything he can blow up, Leo doesn't give a shit about that kind of stuff so we elected the fourth of July as our birthday. But, if we talk conscientiousness and stuff, from what our master told us, we mutated during spring. And if we talk biology, baby turtles hatch in fall or beginning of winter."

"Do you have memories of that time?"

"No, no no no. Our first memories are of training, being exhausted and sleeping with our brothers all together in our blanket. We most likely were one year old at the time." He gulped a slice of orange. "Twenty years of training and look at us now," he added, acid. "It didn't help at all."

"From the reports I read, which are mostly composed of transcriptions of Leonardo's deposition, your surrender has been caused by a set up. I don't think training has anything to do with the current situation."

"It does," Michelangelo responded firmly. "We shouldn't have fallen into that trap, to begin with, and we should have been strong enough to kill those lizards, meaning being more serious in our training prior to that, and we should have at least tried to escape," he explained, anger building up but contained. "We had opportunities but Don was all like 'no, we wait for Leo' 'cause of course he'd wait for Leo, and Leo kept going with his stupid plan. Raph didn't even try to put some sense into Leo's mind and I cou... I couldn't do anything because I failed my brothers. I failed them. I was a dead weight. They should have left me behind."

Michelangelo closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He seemed much more in control of his feelings when he looked at Jeanne again, like nothing had happened, but his smile had something worrying in it.

"So, doc, is guilt human enough for you?"

* * *

><p>Dealing with Michelangelo had been much more complicated than anticipated. Jeanne had had trouble knowing when he was sincere and when he was playing with her. Michelangelo's interview would take a while to analyze. She also would have to be careful when reviewing Leonardo's. He had seemed honest and direct with her but he could have lied to her face all the way. They were much more complex beings than she first had thought. Evaluating whether or not they were dangerous would be even more difficult.<p>

Renard brought Raphael late again. This time, the guard told her, Donatello was awake but barely. He needed some time to wake up completely and he also had to eat something before doing anything else. He had slept for a whole week after all. That was understandable. Jeanne didn't want to talk to him if he wasn't one hundred percent aware either.

Raphael seemed a little taller than his brothers and his attitude was clearly defiant. Renard started his speech but the mutant interrupted him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't waste your time, buddy." His voice was rough and had a pronounced Brooklyn accent. "Go back behind your bars if you don't want to get hurt."

"It's the other way around," Renard reminded him.

Raphael barked a laugh and faced the tall man with a dangerous smile.

"I'm not locked in here with you. You're locked in here with me."

It was a quote from a movie or something like that, Jeanne figured out even if she couldn't remember where she had heard that for the first time, but Renard took it much more seriously.

"It's okay, Mr. Renard," Jeanne intervened before it could get ugly. "Please, come back in an hour."

"You sure, Professor?"

"I'm positive."

Renard grunted but still unlocked Raphael's handcuffs and left, not without a last look just before he closed the door. Raphael immediately removed his shirt and threw it on the floor.

"Could you keep your pants, please?" Jeanne asked as the mutant slid his thumbs under the elastic of his belt. "I am not comfortable with the idea of interviewing you naked."

"And I ain't comfortable with clothes on," Raphael responded. He didn't remove his pants though. "'sides, I've nothing to hide, unlike you monkeys."

"And you have nothing that interests me," Jeanne replied, "but it's a matter of convention. I have to establish if you and your brothers are capable of integration within human society. Wearing cloths would help you convince me so."

"What tells you I wanna convince you?"

"It's all or nothing, Raphael," Jeanne told him as she sat. "I have no problem reviewing you four individually but I believe you and your brothers won't accept that. If one of you passes, I know he will refuse to let the others down. The opposite is also true: if only one of you doesn't succeed, the three others won't continue their life without him, meaning he would condemn them all."

Raphael had another dangerous smile.

"We got balls, I see." He raised his hands far from his belt. "Alright, I can convince you. What d'ya want to know? How my daddy was an asshole who loved my brothers more than me? Or all the horrible stuff he made us do or, better, did to us? Or maybe you want to know all we did to chicks like you?"

"I'd like to start with the meaning of the fourth of July for you," Jeanne told him quietly as she started the Dictaphone. Raphael straightened. "It's the third today and Leonardo and Michelangelo told me tomorrow is your birthday."

Raphael snorted and looked away. He noticed the windows, walked towards one and pocked it, recognizing the military glass.

"April asked when our birthday was, once, 'cause we had made her stuff for hers. We didn't have one so we decided it'd be the fourth of July, is all. There ain't no meaning in that. It's just cool to sit and watch the fireworks with everybody." Raphael looked at the courtyard with interest for a few seconds before slightly turning to see Jeanne. "That dude said Don was awake. What did they do to my brother?"

"The same they did to you, Leonardo and Michelangelo."

"Donnie ain't stupid. He wouldn't eat food with drugs in it."

"I don't think he did. I arrived three days ago and all I know is that Donatello had slept most of his time here. It seems voluntary."

Raphael snorted and returned his attention to the courtyard, arms folded.

"I s'pose you ain't gonna tell me anything 'bout my brothers."

"Leonardo and Michelangelo seemed well," she prompted but Raphael didn't continue the conversation. He kept looking through the window. "Would you like some tea?" Jeanne asked.

Raphael looked at her like she was a crazy witch.

"That's a weird question from a shrink," he snorted. "What're'ya gonna conclude with my answer? I'm civilized enough for you if I drink tea?"

"I always offer tea to my patients," Jeanne responded quietly. "It helps."

"I don't like tea," Raphael said as he turned to the window again.

"Oh. Well, I have a variety of infusions too if you..."

"I don't..." he flamed up but he stopped and clenched his teeth. "I'm good, thank you." Raphael took a few seconds to calm down before continuing. "Look, doc, I'm no good with words and I know only one way to deal with my feelings: I bury them, 'cause our lives are a huge fucking mess. What Leo told you the first night? It's not the tip of the iceberg, it's a fairytale. We survived stuff even Gandalf wouldn't be able to deal with and the guy's a freaking all powerful mage!" Jeanne arched an eyebrow. "I know he's not real but my point still stands," Raphael added, irritated. "We saw shit you can't even imagine and we're still there. Our so called surrender? I don't give a shit about it. From my point of view, the rules have changed, that's all, and I'll adapt and survive with my brothers 'cause it's what we do. We adapt and we survive." He turned again to the window. "Now, ask your questions, we ain't got all day."

* * *

><p>It was already five PM when Renard opened the door for the last mutant turtle, Donatello. His eyes were barely opened and he seemed half asleep. Renard could give him his full speech without interruption and he had to ask twice if Donatello had understood everything. The turtle nodded absently. He didn't move when Renard unlocked his handcuffs nor after the guard left. Donatello stared at the nothingness, his gaze unfocused.<p>

"Donatello?" Jeanne called.

"Hmm?" he responded, slightly turning his head to Jeanne's general direction.

She took a step closer and the smell hit her. The three others hadn't smell good after a month of detention with no possibility of taking a shower. Their scent had been strong and a little aggressive but Donatello's was totally different. There was something acidic and sour around him.

"Are you all right, child?" Jeanne asked gently.

"I'm tired, is all," Donatello answered, shrugging. "Can I sit?"

"Of course, dear. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please, that would be lovely." He zigzagged to the chair with a view on the door and was about to sit when he suddenly stopped, knelt and buried his face in the cushion. He said something that Jeanne didn't understand. "It smells like Leo," Donatello repeated when asked before burying his face again.

"He was the only one to sit here, actually," Jeanne hesitated.

"It's like Heaven on Earth," the muffled voice of Donatello added.

Jeanne shifted her weight on the other foot, not sure of what she was supposed to do. She knew it was hard for them to be separated after twenty years of cohabitation but she never had thought the isolation could affect one of them like that. She decided to let Donatello to his kneeling for the time being and went to the pedestal to make a fresh pot of tea. The turtle hadn't move when she returned a few minutes later.

"Could you sit correctly during the interview, please?" Jeanne asked as she settled the tea-pot and the cups on the coffee table, but Donatello didn't move nor responded. "Donatello?"

Still no movement. Jeanne hesitated but approached anyway to gently shake his shoulder. She called his name another time and insisted on her shaking. Something was wrong. She straightened and saw dark spots growing quickly on the back of Donatello's uniform. Blood.

"Renard!" Jeanne yelled, panic overtaking her.

Donatello weighed a ton but she managed to pull him on his side and he fell on her lap. She then lifted his top to see blood mixed with pus dripping from a multitude of holes in his shell and plastron. The smell gave her nausea.

The chief of security entered in a hurry, ready to fight.

"Get an ambulance!" Jeanne shouted.

"What's happening?" Renard asked, not understanding the situation.

"He's dying of septicemia, that's what happening!" Jeanne bawled him out. "Get me an ambulance, right now!"

"Yes ma'am," Renard responded, already running out of the office.

Jeanne cupped Donatello's face in her hands and waited, helpless.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>

**Notes**  
>Robyn: TMNT vol.1 #49 "Shades of grey" 22  
>Steve: Stainless Steel Steve, TMNT vol.1 #15 "Doom Dome"<p>

**Title:** _hazardous material_

Merci pour ta review, Logariff !


	4. Montagnes russes

**A/N:** The story is based on Mirage Comics volume 1 but is technically an AU as the timeline isn't respected. The events takes place nowadays.  
>Each chapter has a cover. You can find it on my tumblr (check the Neververse tag) or on DeviantArt.<br>**Beta-reader:** SadoraNortica  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M for adult themes, violence and such.

* * *

><p><strong>Neververse<strong>  
>Chapter 4<br>_Montagnes russes_

It was still dark when Leonardo woke up at four, like every other morning, but the dim lights of the emergency exits were enough for him to see clearly. He sat on his bed and authorized himself a minute to appreciate the calm of the corridor. It was his favorite moment of the day, when the other inmates still slept. Their breaths were regular, barely covering the hum of the lights and the low whisper of the ventilation. In three hours, the block B would be a hive with people walking and talking, calling each other out, joking, sometimes fighting. Leonardo liked this agitation and watching the other inmates interact normally, but he loved this minute of quietness above all.

He had three hours before the automatic opening of the grate, like every morning in the past three weeks. Leonardo got up and started his routine: stretching, push-ups, squats and so on. The first week in the penitentiary of Canaan had looked like the forty days spent at Saint Cecile Institute, exception made for the one hour walk outside every day, the showers, and the food delivered with much more regularity and without any drug in it. Then, the situation became better. Leonardo had had his own cell in block B and the freedom to walk around all day if he wanted to, the freedom to talk to anybody, to be part of the hive. Raphael and Michelangelo had the same privileges, even if they were in different blocks, and they had spent all of their shared time together since then, mostly outside, enjoying the space and the sun. Today wasn't going to be different, but they would be four instead of three. Donatello was coming back to them.

Their missing brother had spent the last five weeks in a hospital in New York. When Professor Sparrow had informed Leonardo of Donatello's condition, he had felt furious, capable of cold murder and anyone would have been the right choice to vent his anger. He didn't rip the professor's head off though, nor kill some guards on the way back to his cell. He had kept his anger under control to not jeopardize their chance to get out of there. Thanks to Donatello's state, Wolfe had been able to get them out of Saint Cecile and transferred to Pennsylvania, in another high secured facility. It wasn't freedom yet but it was better than their previous location. At least, escaping from this one was possible.

But it wasn't on the menu yet. They had to wait for Donatello, determine if he was well, look at the other alternatives and only then they could decide what to do. Raphael was all for running away and hiding somewhere forever. Michelangelo didn't give his opinion on the subject yet. Leonardo wanted to take his chance to this new world opening to them. They had fantasized about the idea of walking freely among the regular people of New York for years. Now was the chance. If Donatello agreed with him, it would be two for, one against and one undetermined. Convincing Michelangelo could be tricky but Leonardo had to try. Working their way out of there by behaving accordingly was worth the shot. Heck, if it didn't work, they just had to run away and Raphael would be the happiest turtle in the world for a few moments.

At half past six, Leonardo gathered his things. It wasn't much: four letters from April with drawings from Shadow, documents from Wolfe and Miller, a few books borrowed from the penitentiary's library, another clean uniform and what was necessary for a minimum of hygiene. Leonardo then removed the sheets of his bed, folded them neatly, sat at his desk and waited for the grates to open. Donatello was coming back to them and they were allowed to share a cell, not all together but it was better than being alone again. It had been remarkably difficult to sleep without his brothers' noises around. Leonardo was used to hearing them move in their sleep, breathe, mumble and grunt. He missed Michelangelo's deliberate farts made to annoy Raphael and the faint sound of Donatello's feet on the carpets when he slipped in bed very early in the morning. Just thinking about it, Leonardo smiled like an idiot. In a few hours, they would be four again.

Leonardo was the first out of his cell at seven AM. He walked straight to the end of the corridor, his things under one arm, his sheets under the other, ignoring the inmates coming out of their cell slowly. He had to wait a minute before the corridor's gate opened and he kept going as fast as authorized, heading for the block's sergeant's office. Powell was a man in his fifties slightly overweight, always calm and understanding. He had been a little anxious at the idea of having Leonardo in his block but there had been no problem since the mutant was there and the sergeant now dealt with him like with any other inmate. Or maybe with a little more respect. It didn't displease Leonardo.

The sergeant was still giving orders to a part of his staff in his office when Leonardo knocked on the door. He nodded at the Turtle and finished his daily speech before dismissing his men.

"Good morning," Leonardo said. "Where do I have to go?"

"To go?" Powell repeated, surprised. "Oh, right, your brother arrives today and you change your quarters. But it's too early for that, Leonardo."

"What do you mean?"

"Transfers take place during the morning, around ten in general."

"Ha."

Leonardo felt a bit stupid with his sheets and all. Powell smiled.

"Don't worry, you can leave all of that in my office and I'll keep it for you until then."

"Thank you," Leonardo responded as he handed his stuff to the sergeant. "When will Donatello arrive?"

"With the new inmates, around eleven," Powell replied as he locked Leonardo's things in a small locker in his office. "But you'll have to wait a little, it takes time to settle everyone. You'll see him in the afternoon."

Leonardo was not one to feel frustrated but that was what he felt at the moment. Six more hours to wait! It seemed to be an eternity and a half.

It was childish thinking that, Leonardo scolded himself. It wasn't the first time one of them was missing. After the Shredder's elite's defeat, Donatello had spent six months with Splinter in Northampton while Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo had lived their lives in New York. Leonardo had been busy finding a new home while Michelangelo had stayed at April's to help with the baby that was Shadow at the time. Raphael had been here and there, giving news every other day. He had needed some time alone, they all did, but they got back all together eventually. Since then, they did have some adventures on their own but their family prevailed. It was the safe place to go back to. It was the reason they kept living for. It now was the only thing that really mattered to Leonardo.

"What's the name of the big one again?" Powell asked. "Raffaelo?"

"Raphael," Leonardo responded without noticing.

"Ah, right. Your other brother, the one who arrives today, he will be with him in block A."

"What?!" Powell stepped back before Leonardo had realized he had barked at the sergeant. "There must be a mistake," Leonardo added in a much more controlled tone. "Why would Donatello be with Raphael?"

"That's not up to me," Powell said, uncertain. "I have orders. Michaelangelo will be transferred here to share a cell with you, that's what was decided."

"But that's stupid," Leonardo retorted. "Mike is Raph's best friend, Don's mine."

"You're already lucky enough to share a cell with one of your brothers," Powell reminded him sharply. "You can't be picky."

"I need to talk to the director," Leonardo decreed, folding his arms.

Powell snorted.

"You need to get off your high horse. You're in a penitentiary, boy, and you have to obey the same rules as any other inmate. It was the deal to let you out of isolation, remember? You don't make the rules and you don't get to see the director like that. Now, move away, inmate."

In a moment like that, Leonardo could envy Raphael's quick temper. His brother would have punched Powell and probably break his nose out of frustration. Leonardo had no problem picturing the force of the impact against his knuckles, the soft cartilage of the nose bending, the wetness of the blood on his hand, finally reaching the harder bones of Powell's face and destroying it with ease. So much ease. So much it was ridiculous. Leonardo started to laugh at the idea, to Powell's greater incomprehension.

"You don't want to go back to isolation today, boy," Powell threatened him coldly.

Leonardo snorted but he knew better than aggravating his case. He wouldn't miss Donatello's return to their family for the world so he walked away, chin up high, defying anyone to approach him. The other inmates had learned not to be in a Turtle's way. Canaan was a high secured penitentiary with particular prisoners, murderers for most of them, some beasts and low scum but most of its population was smart enough to not search for trouble against mutant turtles.

To be honest, Leonardo and his brothers had given them a show on their first day out in the courtyard and it had been deliberate. After hugs and teasing, they had fought, officially for training after forty-seven days of rest, unofficially to clearly state to the humans around that they had better not to fuck with them. Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo had ended up bloody and hurt but it had been totally worth it. It had felt fantastic to finally have some action. And to show off. For once, they had spectators and Leonardo had to admit he had liked the attention, the admiration and sometimes the fear in the eyes of the detainees.

It took Raphael to lift up two hundred kilograms dumbbells with ease to finish the work. Sure, Michelangelo and Leonardo couldn't lift so much weight themselves but the message had been understood: don't mess with the Turtles. Leonardo liked to think no one had annoyed them because of their capacities display but he also knew the prison's administration had something to do with it. There had been instructions. It was okay and, to be frank, Leonardo didn't mind the peace. He was eager to speak freely to people but those around were still criminals. Leonardo and his brothers had killed before but not for the same reasons. They never had ended a life just because they could and it made all the difference for them. They had killed to avenge Hamato Yoshi, to help Karai regain control of the Foot, to defend their lives the rest of the time. They weren't murderers. They were warriors, ninjas to be precise, skilled and deeply aware of the ambivalence of their actions. They weren't the same as those low lives.

The inmates could also not speak to them because they didn't want to approach freaks but it was an option Leonardo didn't desire to think about. Every day he saw the staff's reluctance to deal with him or his brothers even if they were polite and quiet around them and he knew it would take long before being accepted for who they were, but he believed they had their chance. Leonardo didn't want to acknowledge the surprise in the humans' eyes, he wanted to encourage the curiosity. He wanted to go to them to answer their questions and show them he was no different than them. He had a family for which he deeply cared. He had feelings such as pride and shame. He could feel happy or sad. He was just green and scaly but he was a sentient being. He was a person. And that would be something hard for people to understand for the rest of their lives.

But first, Leonardo had to make some people understand that not having Donatello in his cell was intolerable. He had nothing against Michelangelo. They were brothers, they loved each other and that would never change, even if they didn't have much in common. Michelangelo was much more intuitive than Leonardo and listened more to his feelings. His decisions came from the guts, whereas Leonardo's resulted of reflections. They were complementary and didn't always understand each other but they were on good terms in general. Michelangelo knew how to be serious when needed, Leonardo could take it easy on some rare occasions and it was enough for them.

Everything was different with Donatello. They understood each other perfectly, they knew what the other was thinking at all time, or at least how the other thought, and they didn't need to speak to communicate. A smile was enough, a look, the slightest change of position. It was a pleasure to fight with Donatello thanks to their complicity. He knew where to be, what to do better than Raphael or Michelangelo. Those two had the same connection, they were best friends as much as Donatello and Leonardo were. Everybody knew it, Leonardo had even told it to Sparrow, so why the Hell wasn't he sharing a cell with Donatello?

Sparrow. He needed to talk to Sparrow. The penitentiary's director listened to her when it came to Leonardo and his brothers. She was capable of changing his mind, Leonardo just knew it. He walked straight to the telephones lined up on a wall in the administration part of his block and noticed the absence of the guards usually there to supervise the calls. Perfect. Leonardo picked up a phone. There was no tonality. He hung up and tried again. Still nothing. The lines must be dead out of the authorized calling hours. Leonardo snorted and walked to the nearest guard's office, knocking on the thick window with metallic wires inside.

"What do you want, inmate?" a guard asked coldly when he opened the door but he froze when he recognized Leonardo. In other circumstances, the mutant would have smirked but he wasn't feeling playful at the moment.

"I need to call Sparrow," Leonardo said.

"You'll have to wait for..."

"No," he interrupted. "It's important and it can't wait."

"The rules are the same for everybody," the guard responded, starting to regain confidence. Leonardo had to change his strategy.

"You don't get it," he grunted. "Sparrow's our psychiatrist. She helps us dealing with you, humans. I need to talk to her, now."

The guard hesitated and gave a look over his shoulder to the four others in the small office. Leonardo vaguely knew who they were. Those guards were often around when the Turtles trained.

"What's worse?" Leonardo insisted. "Letting me have this call or dealing with me?"

The guards paled in unison. They knew they could take Leonardo down eventually but they would be heavily injured in the process. After a few look exchanges, they agreed and let Leonardo have his phone call. Two guards came with him to insure no other inmate would come to disrupt him – or ask for the same favor.

Leonardo called Sparrow on her cellphone and she picked up at the first ring after the automatic speech stating that someone from a prison was trying to contact her.

"It's Leonardo," the mutant said before she could ask. "I need to talk to you."

"On the phone?" Sparrow asked, surprised. "Is it wise? The calls are recorded."

"I know and I don't care. It has nothing to do with your evaluations. Which take forever to come to a conclusion, by the way."

Sparrow stopped a few second.

"You seem angry."

"Really, Doc?" Leonardo snapped. "I wonder why but absolutely no reason comes to my mind right now."

"What is it, Leonardo?" Sparrow asked more softly this time.

It could have been the tone of a mother worried for her child. In another occasion, like in the security of their interviews, Leonardo would have been touched by Sparrow's care for him and his brothers but it irritated him even more at the moment. He wanted to shout at her that she didn't have the right to speak to him like that, that she wasn't family and had to keep her distances.

But it would ruin all the work they had done so far and Leonardo couldn't do that to his brothers. He had to make this work so he swallowed his anger and took a deep breathe.

"Donatello arrives today," he started, everything under control.

"Yes, I know that. In fact, I'll be on my way to the hospital as soon as this call ends."

"You're coming to Pennsylvania too?" Leonardo grunted more than he asked.

"No, dear," Sparrow responded, "I have other patients to attend to and a lecture at the university this afternoon but I'd like to talk a little to Donatello before he leaves New York. He had become agitated in the past few days at the idea to come back to you."

"Agitated?" Leonardo snorted. "That doesn't sound like Donatello."

"He rubbed his hands a lot and often tried to change the subject," Sparrow said, and there was a smile in her voice. "For your brother, those signs are like flashing neon over his head. He can't wait to see you guys."

Leonardo felt his throat tightening. Donatello was the least likely to show signs of impatience. He was always calm and kept his cool most of the time. When annoyed, he could bitch a little but that was it. Donatello was as in control as Leonardo. The separation must have been ten times worse for him, now that Leonardo thought about it. April had told him in a letter that she wasn't allowed to visit him at the hospital so Donatello must have spent the last five weeks alone in his room, exception made for Sparrow's and the doctors' visits.

"Leonardo?" Sparrow called him. "What was the subject of your call?"

"Ah, yeah..." the mutant sighed while pinching the bridge of his beak. His request seemed so childish and egoist now. "Powell told me Don is going to share a cell with Raph and I wanted to ask you if you could intervene on the subject."

"Is that a problem?" Sparrow asked.

Leonardo winced.

"Not really but it would be more logical for Don and I to share a cell and Raph and Mike another."

"I advised against this configuration."

"What?!" Leonardo shouted and the guards looked at him, hand on their electroshock batons. "Why did you do that? You know Don and I..."

"I know," Sparrow interrupted, "but I also know that having Raphael and Michelangelo in the same cell is not a good idea, as well as putting you and Raphael together. Eventually, there will be an argument."

"You don't know that," Leonardo responded harshly.

"It's what I learned during my interviews," Sparrow explained. "Raphael only had meaningless bickers with Donatello whereas he had several arguments which ended badly with you and Michelangelo both. We want to avoid that."

"Okay, Raph is not easy to deal with," Leonardo admitted, "but he changed over the years. Our last serious fight was two and a half years ago. And Mike's his best friend. Raph's different with him."

"And he is much more calm when around Donatello," Sparrow insisted. "You may all be brothers but you don't act the same way with each other."

"But..."

"There is always tension between Raphael and you," Sparrow kept on, "and Michelangelo tends to play the idiot around Raphael to lighten his mood, which leads to disputes. It really is the best configuration to avoid problems, Leonardo."

Sparrow was right. Leonardo may have been angry at her but she was damn right and it annoyed him even more to realize she knew them so well after only a few weeks of interviews. Were they so simple, so easy to read? Splinter would be mortified if he knew his students failed once more.

No, Leonardo scolded himself. He wasn't going to think about Splinter.

"Fine," he dropped, his teeth clenched.

"Don't worry," Sparrow added on a softer tone. "You'll spend plenty of time with your brother."

"Can you give him a message?" Leonardo attempted. Sparrow had come twice a week to Canaan for her interviews and she gave them news of Donatello's health but she never agreed to give him a message for security reasons. But he was transferred today, in a few hours he would be there with them, there was no risk at all.

"I can," Sparrow agreed and Leonardo felt his chest becoming lighter. He sighed and turned his back to the guards, almost whispering in the phone.

"Tell him I miss him and I long for the moment I'll be able to take him in my arms."

Sparrow didn't respond immediately. She may have been writing it down – Leonardo couldn't tell, the connection wasn't good enough for him to hear all the little details he usually relied on.

"I will tell him as soon as I see him," Sparrow finally said. "I promise."

"Thank you," Leonardo sighed. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

He hung up, keeping his hand on the phone for a few seconds, recollecting his thoughts. Something wasn't right. Or maybe too right, like everything clicked into place. If Leonardo had tried to convince himself to adopt this "configuration", he would have used the same arguments. He would have used Raphael's temper as the weak point of the team. It was too right, which meant something wasn't right. Sparrow had tricked him. She had served him exactly what he had wanted to hear.

That was the paranoia talking. Leonardo shook his head and tried to be more reasonable. He had to think straight, to stop imagining conspiracies everywhere. It was an easy thing to do when you had so much free time on your hands but it wasn't healthy. Leonardo was too used to imagining the worst that could happen, he didn't need extra-motive to aggravate his habit. Sparrow was doing her job, which was to determine if the Turtles were suitable for a normal life among regular people and help them through their time in prison. She was trying to avoid any argument that could lead to isolation and bad reports. She was protecting them.

The guards were still looking at him when Leonardo turned to face them, still a little angry but under control.

"You said you wanted to talk to your shrink about humans," one of the guards said coldly. "You lied to us."

"Yes, I lied," Leonardo admitted, arrogant. "Big surprise: the mutants can lie!"

"Enough, inmate!"

The guards approached, their electric baton ready to strike. Leonardo snorted. He dodged to the left of the first attempt, disarmed both guards at once with a soft kick and a light punch, and then pinned one of the guards against the wall. The other one hesitated for a second and learned in that moment that a second was enough for Leonardo to grab him by the collar and lift him up in the air with a single arm.

"Turtles 101: do not search out trouble with us," Leonardo reminded them. "Understood?"

Both guards nodded and Leonardo released them, taking a few steps back. There was a big chance he'd end up in isolation, now that he was thinking about it. Donatello was right: he was an idiot.

"Over here, sergeant!" someone yelled in an adjacent corridor. Leonardo knew this voice and he had trouble hiding his smirk. The guards jumped like kids caught stealing cookies. They grabbed their baton and looked around but nobody was to be seen. They didn't take their chance nonetheless. The sergeant was strict with the inmates and his staff too. No mistake was tolerated. Two guards having a muscled argument with a prisoner would be severely punished.

"Go back to your cell, inmate!" one guard barked as he started walking.

"It's not over, mutant," the other one hissed at Leonardo. "We'll keep an eye on you."

Leonardo rolled his eyes – as if they were capable of anything against him. All they could do was let him rot in isolation for a few days but Sparrow would get him out of there during her next visit. "They do not have the same reference system", she had said once to get Raphael out of the tiny white cell. "They had to be tough to survive and their attitude can't simply disappear in a few weeks." She wasn't wrong and it annoyed Leonardo even more.

He found Raphael on the way to the cafeteria – their blocks shared time for every meal. He seemed pleased with himself. He could be.

"Thanks," Leonardo said to his brother.

"No problem," Raphael responded with a smirk. "What was that about?"

"They didn't appreciate me lying and not expressing any remorse, apparently."

"Humans," Raphael snorted.

"Tell me about it," Leonardo sighed, amused.

The cafeteria was already full of people, movements and conversations, but nobody really paid attention to the two mutants entering the room. The first days, Raphael and Leonardo had been welcomed by a deep silence and strange looks. That would start again tonight, Leonardo thought, because the Turtles would be four instead of two from now on. The idea made him smile.

"Calm your tits down," Raphael taunted him as they started to wait in the line. "I know you're happy 'cause Donnie comes back today but that's no reason to act like an idiot."

"I can't help it," Leonardo mumbled, a bit ashamed to admit it in front of Raphael.

To Leonardo's surprise, Raphael didn't mock him nor snort or anything. He gave him a small push with his shoulder, smiling too. Raphael wasn't the most effusive of them when it came to his feelings – the good ones, not the anger – so his soft touch meant a lot. He had missed Donatello too.

"You'll share your cell with Don," Leonardo told him as they moved forward.

"I know. Would have liked to be with Mikey though."

"That's what I told Sparrow but she said you'd be less trouble if Don was your cellmate."

"Less trouble," Raphael winced. "I had my share of arguments with Donnie too, y'know? He's annoying when he does his Mister Know-It-All or when he's bitching in his corner. At least Mike and you tell me to my face what's wrong but Don always mumbles for himself. And the guy can wait weeks for his revenge."

"He's not like that with me," Leonardo shrugged.

"'course he's not like that with you," Raphael snorted. "You're the only one around with enough brains to be of any interest for Don."

"I'm not that smart," Leonardo qualified.

"Oh I know you're a pretty stupid fuckhead but you're the kind of stupid Don likes anyway."

It made Leonardo smile like an idiot again and Raphael shook his head in despair.

"You think that'll change?" Leonardo asked as they slowly progressed to the front of the line.

"What'll change?"

"Smart comes in many shapes," Leonardo explained. "Don may find someone more interesting than me to talk to."

"Yeah that's possible," Raphael admitted and Leonardo took the hit. "There are some guys who play chess in the TV room sometimes. I bet he'll massacre them and bitch about it after 'cause it was too easy."

"Probably, yes," Leonardo nodded but it didn't amuse him as much as Raphael. Even here in prison, there were enough people to disturb the dynamic of their family. Leonardo was eager to talk and befriend some inmates, even if they were criminals, but it was clear to him that his family was the priority. He would drop everything for his brothers. But them? What if they find more interesting friends to hang out with? Michelangelo was on his own a lot due to his block's schedule and he had already some acquaintances. He was more easy going, at peace with who he was, what he was. Donatello always had suffered from isolation and Leonardo thought part of his brother's fascination for computers came from that. The Internet allowed Donatello to talk to people, to find intellectual matches, to break his insulation, but, in the end, he had to hide in the sewers with his brothers and rely on them.

Maybe their family was about to break, Leonardo realized. Maybe being out in the world meant to lose his beloved brothers. The thought cut his appetite and clouded his morning. When Powell came to the library to find him for the cell transfer, Leonardo simply nodded and followed the man in silence. Michelangelo was already in their new cell when Leonardo arrived with so little in his hands. His brother had three cardboard boxes with him, plus his sheets on top of it.

"Yo, Leo!" Michelangelo welcomed him with a radiant smile. "Top or bottom bunk for you?"

"I'd prefer the bottom," Leonardo answered as he entered the space. It was one and a half times bigger than his previous cell, two bunk beds on the left, two small lockers and a desk in the middle on the right.

"Yeah, I don't see you as a top kind of guy either," Michelangelo joked as he launched his sheets on his mattress.

"Your obsession for sex will never cease to amaze me," Leonardo commented, starting to put in order his few belongings. Michelangelo jumped on his bed with ease.

"It destabilizes people," he explained, unfolding his sheets. "I like that."

"You're a five foot four talking turtle," Leonardo pointed out. "It's pretty destabilizing already."

"But the look in their eyes when I talk sex!" Michelangelo marveled. "You should try, bro, it's priceless."

"I don't want to talk about sex with strangers," Leonardo mumbled.

"You're not such a prude with your bros though."

Leonardo winced and looked at Michelangelo over his shoulder. He was smiling like a maniac.

"You're in a good mood."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Michelangelo asked. "Today the prodigal son returns!" he added, arms in the air, touching the ceiling.

"I thought I was the prodigal son."

"Wow, don't be so humble Leo," Michelangelo laughed, "think about your ego, buddy."

Leonardo smirked. It was good to know Raphael and Michelangelo shared his excitement. His seemed more legitimate, more normal. They were both equally happy of their brother's return and it enlightened the couple of hours remaining. Michelangelo entertained Leonardo and Raphael during lunch with his latest ideas for stories – he had been writing a lot lately to occupy his lonely hours – and then they moved to the courtyard to enjoy the sun and the weight benches. Raphael had made sure on their first day out that everyone knew the benches were for the Turtles in the beginning of the afternoon. There hadn't been a lot of complains since then.

They lifted weights for an hour or so, not really paying attention to what they were doing. They all kept an eye on the main gate, looking at it more and more often as time passed. Leonardo felt Donatello before smelling or seeing him. He just knew his brother was nearby and he abandoned his dumbbells on the ground to sit on the bench. Raphael mumbled something about his brother having no respect for the material, bending to retrieve it from the unworthy ground, while Michelangelo stopped talking about his awesome character he was developing to turn to face the gate.

Leonardo's heart skipped a beat when he saw Donatello and his body refused to move, as if his muscles had frozen. Michelangelo was the first to run, calling his brother and frightening the inmates around at the same time. Raphael didn't care anymore about the dumbbells and quickly followed. Leonardo took a deep breath and stood up, his body shaking. The first step cost him a lot of effort, his chest on fire and his feet crushed by his own weight, but the second was easier, the third twice as much, and by the fifth he was running too. Michelangelo was already hugging and kissing Donatello on the cheeks, the forehead and the beak with great exaggeration while Raphael was rubbing vigorously his bald head. Donatello seemed happy to endure such treatments, hugging Michelangelo back, not even complaining.

Leonardo found himself waiting for his turn to embrace his brother, not capable of interrupting the reunion. Eventually Michelangelo noticed him and let go of Donatello. Raphael hugged him rapidly with a pat on the head, telling him it was good to see his ugly face once more before the other side and Donatello laughed at it. He wasn't done yet with the physical world, he responded and he finally turned to Leonardo. Their hands connected as they approached each other, and their plastrons touched, the sound softer than usual because of the fabric of their uniforms. Then they hugged, cheek against cheek, breathing each other's smell, savoring the faint warmth of their bodies, the solid and reassuring presence of a best friend. It was real. Donatello was finally here with them, safe and sound. Leonardo felt the past two month's pressure disappear into thin air, as if all of that never happened. It was a lie, he knew it, their troubles were only beginning, but he didn't want to think about it. Only Donatello mattered at the moment.

Leonardo never exactly knew who initiated it but they kissed during their embrace. One moment they were hugging and telling how much they had missed each other, smiling like the big dorks they were, the next their lips were touching and a bolt of lightning struck Leonardo. It wasn't exactly a kiss, not the kind lovers shared, just a soft brush on his lips, and it didn't feel like those Leonardo had experienced in his short life. No, it had been ten times better, if not more. Leonardo would have liked to do it again but his guts froze at the idea and he just rubbed his cheek against Donatello's again, as if it never happened, already burying it deep down, focusing on his brother's smell instead. He had missed that smell so much.

"Aren't they cute," Michelangelo taunted, poking Raphael with his elbow.

"Shut up, Mikey," Leonardo and Donatello responded in unison and they all laughed at the old habit restored.

They broke their embrace eventually, not without regrets. Raphael patted Donatello once more on the back and this time the attention was welcomed with a wince.

"Oh, right," Raphael backed off. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Donatello shook his head. "I relied too much on morphine during my time in the hospital. I should be able to endure such pain."

"You're too hard on yourself," Leonardo scolded him softly.

"No I'm not," Donatello countered. "None of you would have reduced yourselves to drugs to ease the pain. I'm really not proud of it."

"I would have," Michelangelo shrugged. "Pain is information, right?" Donatello nodded but Michelangelo continued before he could explain it all. "We learned how to bypass that info with meditation or just willpower but sometimes it just doesn't work. If morphine or anything helps, what's the big deal? We all need help sometimes. That doesn't make you weak, bro."

Raphael agreed and Leonardo gently squeezed Donatello's hand to approve Michelangelo's argument.

"Thanks, guys," Donatello smiled, incapable of looking them in the eyes.

"Now, show me your scar," Michelangelo asked. "Must be pretty awesome, this one."

"Not to brag but I think you will be jealous," Donatello smirked.

He lifted his top to his armpit to reveal a long and profound arc on his back and continuing on the connection on the bridge, between the shell and the plastron. There was a series of small holes along the entire length of the scar, probably due to surgical clips. Smaller holes were still visible on the plastron where the lizard had bitten Donatello.

"They had to remove a part of my shell," Donatello explained before his mesmerized brothers. "The infection had spread into the muscles between the vital organs and the bones, mostly in the form of pus sacks, but that was the easy part to clean once the surgeons were at it. Some of my bones on my back were too damaged and they had to remove them."

"So you're missing bones under your shell?" Leonardo asked.

"They replaced it with an experimental foam, actually," Donatello responded.

"They did what?" Raphael growled.

"I was willing to try," Donatello soothed him, lowering his top, "and it had been used on humans before. It's just not a popular method to repair bones, doctors usually prefer to let it grow back and mine will eventually. The foam was made out of my bones, it will be integrated as it grows back."

"So your shell is not as strong as it was because of that foam, right?" Leonardo understood.

"It's on a titanium frame, actually."

"You're a cyborg," Michelangelo realized, eyes sparkling with envy.

"If you refer to the common definition and not the sci-fi one, yes, I am a cyborg."

"This is awesome."

"This is not awesome," Leonardo grunted. "Don has metallic plates in his back."

"Frame," Donatello corrected, "not plates."

"He's like an armored turtle," Michelangelo insisted. "A cybernetic armored turtle!"

"How is that awesome?" Leonardo asked, frowning. "He spent a month at the hospital!"

"Five weeks," Donatello pointed out.

"Your brother is a cyborg and you don't think it's awesome? What's wrong with you Leo?"

"What he had to endure..."

"It wasn't great," Donatello interrupted, "but it wasn't that bad either. Sure, I had my share of pain but people were pretty nice to me. Once they got used to me, I wasn't just a big green curiosity, I was a person to their eyes and we talked and it made my time at the hospital certainly more pleasant that yours here. But I missed you, brothers, and I'm glad I am finally with you, no matter the conditions."

"Wait til you taste the food and we'll talk about conditions," Michelangelo joked. "It's not that bad, way better than Leo's cooking, but..."

"Oi," Leonardo winced.

Michelangelo smirked, which wasn't an excuse at all but it made Donatello smile so Leonardo forgot the apologies needed.

"Can we train here?" Donatello asked, going back to business. "I've sat on my butt for five weeks after a month of sleep. I seriously need to move."

"Yeah, now that you mention it, you look fat," Michelangelo commented, rubbing his chin.

"I do not," Donatello responded, offended.

"We can train, yes," Leonardo intervened. "As long as it stays between us four, there will be no problem with the guards."

"So what are we waiting for?"

"Ha, Donnie-boy," Raphael sighed, smiling. "So impatient, so reckless."

Quick as a snake, Donatello twisted Raphael's arm and the tallest had no choice but to follow the movement if he wanted to avoid a dislocated shoulder, putting a knee to the ground, but he was laughing. Michelangelo took a few steps back and got into position, a low and open one which he favored over the years for its offering of next movements. Leonardo wanted to fight on Donatello's side but his brother shook his head and Leonardo had no choice but to back off. It would be three on one then. Leonardo put his feet firmly on the ground, straightened his back and took a much stronger position than Michelangelo's to clearly state his intentions: no mercy. Donatello smiled back at him. He let go of Raphael's arm and kicked the top of his shell to make him roll on the ground. Raphael stood up, faced his brother with a strong stance, presenting him his side, and Donatello replied with a more relaxed posture.

"What are you waiting for?" he taunted. "Afraid I'll kick your asses?"

Leonardo exchanged a look with Raphael and Michelangelo, who shrugged. Well then, Leonardo thought and he attacked.

* * *

><p>"I may have been too presumptuous," Donatello admitted across the table, and it made Raphael smile. His brother had as much hematomas and scratches as them all but he looked more tired, Raphael noted. At his left, Michelangelo was practically jumping up and down like a puppy incapable of containing itself in front of food, but it had more to deal with sharing a meal with his brothers after an eternity than the quality of dinner, and Leonardo, on Donatello's left, was smiling like an idiot ever since the moment their brother had come back. His split lip didn't stop him even if that one had to be dolorous.<p>

"Yep, we kicked your ass," Michelangelo replied, starting his dinner with chocolate pudding.

Donatello looked at him for a second then to his tray with mashed potatoes, fried chicken nuggets, some green beans with an unidentified green sauce, a slice of orange and the pudding. He winced.

"You need to eat, Donnie," Leonardo scolded him.

"I'm not that hungry," Donatello responded. "Besides, I can lose a few kilograms, it seems."

Leonardo exchanged a look with Raphael and they both put their puddings on Donatello's tray. He always had been a little difficult on the food but he had a thing for sugar. Eating only pudding for dinner was better than not eating at all.

"You'll get used to it," Raphael said, digging in his mashed potatoes.

"Can we take over the kitchens, like the Latinos in _Orange Is the New Black_?" Donatello asked very seriously while opening his first pudding with reluctance. He was obviously making plans already.

"We asked if we could participate in something, like the library or the kitchen," Leonardo explained, "but the director didn't approve. He's afraid we'd take advantage of it."

"He's right, I'd totally take advantage of the kitchen if I could," Michelangelo intervened. "I'm dying for some beef bourguignon. Or some filet mignon. Or roasted pork with honey and balsamic vinegar. Or better, duck!"

"You and your French cuisine," Raphael mumbled.

"You don't complain when you eat it," Michelangelo taunted, poking him with his elbow. Raphael pushed him a little to make him stop.

"That's all meat," Donatello commented.

"Rice goes well with everything," Michelangelo thought out loud. "And I'd make some veggies with it, don't worry."

"Not kale though."

"Not kale," Michelangelo swore with a hand raised.

Donatello smiled a little. He would have eaten only vegetables if it had been an option – exception made for kale – but their diet was mostly based on what they found in the city's dumpsters and the energy they needed. Meat procured much more proteins than rotten carrots and potatoes.

"But we can't do shit around," Raphael resumed. "For now it's okay, we can go outside, but I don't know what we'll do during winter."

"Ask for a transfer to Florida," Michelangelo proposed, dipping a nugget into his pudding before gulping it.

"We'd lose Miller, Sparrow and Wolfe," Leonardo shook his head. "And April."

"Did you see her?" Donatello asked.

"No, we're not allowed to have visitors," Raphael grunted.

"For now," Leonardo corrected. "Did you?"

"No visitors either," Donatello answered, "only the authorized staff, Professor Sparrow, Miss Wolfe and Lieutenant Miller. Oh and those guys who tried to kill me, once, but I doubt they were on any list."

Raphael blinked and looked at Donatello who kept eating his pudding like he hadn't just dropped a bomb. Michelangelo stopped goofing around and Leonardo looked like he was ready to get out of there, find those guys and kill them without a blink. His fists were trembling on the table.

"Care to elaborate?" Raphael asked to avoid Leonardo's outburst. He was too sensitive when it came to Donatello. That wasn't very professional.

"Religious fanatics," Donatello shrugged. "Well, Christians, to be accurate, but this country has a fascinating number of sects."

"Why the Hell has nobody told us about this?" Leonardo exploded, his voice so powerful it surprised the prisoners around their table. Raphael glanced at them to keep the curious away.

"To avoid that kind of reaction," Donatello answered mater-of-factually, pointing his plastic spoon to Leonardo. "We knew you would be furious..."

"Of course I am!" Leonardo interrupted.

"… and we didn't want to provoke a stupid reaction," Donatello continued, "like you three getting out of here and going back to New York on your own, because, let's be honest, you would have done that as soon as you'd knew."

Leonardo wanted to contradict that statement but a look from Donatello made him close his mouth. Of course they would have run to New York to protect their brother but it would have brought a lot of trouble. Even Raphael knew it. They had to keep quiet and behave correctly. It didn't please him but they had no other option for now. Donatello wasn't strong enough yet to endure any adventures. He needed rest and training but time would come for them to reconsider the question of their future.

"We?" Michelangelo pointed out.

"It was a common decision between me, Professor Sparrow and Lieutenant Miller."

"I don't get that Sparrow," Leonardo mumbled.

"She's a very smart woman," Donatello commented. "I like her."

Leonardo winced, as if Donatello had slapped him, and turned his anger on his tray, digging aggressively in it. Raphael arched an eye ridge. Leonardo rarely acted like he had today, like a child. It was destabilizing to see him like that but Raphael couldn't just take him by the collar and shake him until it cleared his head. That wouldn't work.

To be honest, he didn't know what to do to help Leonardo to get back on his feet. When Raphael was in a bad mood, his brothers usually gave him space and time at some point, so he decided to do the same with Leonardo. He'd let him deal with his feelings himself but be present if his brother needed to talk – or a serious kick in the butt. Raphael wasn't exactly a good adviser but he knew how to listen anyway.

But Leonardo was generally the one they all counted on, the reasonable one. They needed someone like that at the table right now, someone who'd keep his head cool. It wouldn't be Michelangelo, Raphael realized as he saw his brother stealthily steeling Donatello's nuggets, and it wouldn't be Donatello either as he was the subject of all their attention. Fuck me, Raphael grunted for himself. He was in for being the responsible big brother for a while. He hated that, it was exhausting and his brothers always were mad at him at some point. He didn't know how Leonardo managed to both be on their asses but not be hated at the same time.

"What happened to those guys, the fanatics?" Raphael asked. He needed that information. If Donatello had killed them, it could lead to a lot of problems.

"I took them down," Donatello shrugged. "Just down, I didn't kill them. It wasn't much of a challenge, even if I was chained to the bed."

"You were chained?" Leonardo exploded again.

"Of course I was," Donatello answered, frowning. "And there were at least twenty guards around my room at any given time, and they came inside with the staff too, allowing me no privacy at all. That's what we get when we brag about how strong and deadly we are."

Another slap for Leo, Raphael thought. The previous one was self-inflicted but this one was a dreadful hit. Donatello suggested Leonardo's strategy hadn't been a good one. By the look on Leonardo's face, the honeymoon was over.

"I did what I could to insure our survival," he responded coldly.

"I'm sure you did," Donatello looked away.

"But your plan was better, wasn't it?"

"It was different."

"Of course it was different!" Michelangelo interrupted, smiling like an idiot to ease the mood. "We're all different and we don't do everything the same way. Like, Raph always puts too much pepper in everything or I don't wash the dishes with hot water or, I don't know, but it's totally normal!"

"I didn't know you'd be sick," Leonardo continued, teeth clenched.

"And here we go again," Donatello sighed, "our great leader taking all the blame for himself."

"Enough, Donatello," Raphael ordered. "And you too, Leonardo. What happened happened, we can't change it and we have to focus on the future."

Donatello had the decency to look ashamed of himself but Leonardo only seemed more angry. He stood up and went straight for the exit. No guard dared to stop him nor to remind him he had to bring his tray back to the kitchen's front.

"Great," Michelangelo mumbled. "I have to share my room with him, you know?"

"Yeah and I'm starting to think it's a good idea," Raphael grunted. "Why did you tell him that, Donnie?"

"I felt like it," he shrugged.

"You felt like it," Raphael repeated, rubbing his eyes.

"Leo's not always right but I think there is other ways to tell him than bitching," Michelangelo commented, much more serious. "He's quite sensitive on his leading capacities. He doubts a lot, actually."

"I know and it wasn't my intention," Donatello corrected. "He just..." He winced and rubbed his left shoulder. "I know I'm not at my best and I already feel like I'm letting you down, guys. I don't need Leo on top of that to act like I am some sort of damsel in distress. I can still take care of myself."

"Bruised ego against bruised ego," Michelangelo simplified. "When I said you were cute..."

"That doesn't sound like you," Raphael commented.

"I'm not in the best mood possible lately," Donatello admitted. "I had a lot of time to think, like you I guess, and I found more questions and doubts than solutions."

"Can we help?" Michelangelo asked, genuinely preoccupied.

Donatello gave him a poor smile.

"I'm afraid I have to deal with my own shit but thanks, Mike."

Michelangelo nodded, certainly as curious as Raphael was about that shit Donatello had mentioned. It wasn't very much like Donatello to not find a solution to a problem – nor to use such word. It had to be related to something too personal to share. Again, Raphael wondered what it could possibly be but he shrugged it out. Donatello would talk when he'd have a satisfactory answer. He wasn't the kind of guy to ask for help for his personal problems, or he would go to Splinter for that.

But Splinter was missing, so said Casey and April in their letters. It didn't quite surprise Raphael. He always knew they would be on their own some day and that day had come, but he had pictured it because of their master's death. Raphael knew in his gut Splinter was still alive, somewhere. Karai may have trapped them and she may have known where they lived but Splinter was too smart and too powerful for a bunch of smelly Feet. Splinter couldn't just have abandoned them like that, just because they were in trouble. Raphael preferred to think his master had to hide somewhere for a while.

They hadn't talk about it yet. Raphael had tried to bring up the subject once at dinner with Leonardo but his brother had just pushed it away. Donatello had been pretty clear during the night of their capture: he didn't believe Splinter would ever come to help them; it was a waste of time to ask him again. Raphael hadn't had the courage to talk about Splinter with Michelangelo yet. He knew his brother thought that Splinter didn't like him as much as the others and it deeply affected Michelangelo, even if he rarely spoke about it.

Good thing they had Sparrow around now, Raphael thought as they finished their meal with meaningless chit-chat. They were all in for years of therapy just to deal with their now ended ninja carrier, and many more for those to come, if they were to survive so long. Knowing that fanatics had tried to kill Donatello while he was at the hospital wasn't a good sign. It could happen again, even in that prison. There had to be one or two guys around willing to spend some more years in there for a decent amount of money. They could come, Raphael thought with confidence, scanning the vast room as they stood up, trays in hands. He had no problem killing scumbags to protect his family.

They spent their common time giving a tour to Donatello with a lot of comments before the curfew. Michelangelo then took the direction of his new cell, saying hello to a few guys on the way. Raphael shook his head. How Michelangelo managed to befriend humans so easily was a real mystery for him – how he ended up in hot chicks' beds was an even bigger enigma, one Raphael wasn't eager to solve. Raphael headed for his cell in silence, Donatello by his side, looking around and studying the configuration of the corridors. They all did that when they arrived, it was an automatism.

"I suppose the ventilation is less than fifty centimeters in diameter," Donatello said when they arrived to their cell.

Raphael rapidly converted: fifty centimeters equaled around twenty inches. Donatello never used pounds and inches. He liked the metric system, which was much more logical to him and the vast majority of the world. Leonardo and Michelangelo had gotten used to it over the years and used that system too now but Raphael never quite acquired the taste of it. He knew what it was but he preferred using his own country's system.

"Yeah, it's too small for us to go in it, us or any adult human," Raphael responded, keeping an eye on the corridor in case someone was too interested in their conversation.

"I sometimes regret not being a midget anymore," Donatello sighed.

"I don't," Raphael mumbled, folding his arms. "Having April's breast at eye-level was fucking distracting."

"Now you can look down at her rack though," Donatello smirked.

"I cannot. She's a friend."

Donatello shrugged, knowing perfectly well that there was more under those words. Repressed feelings were a common disease in their family.

Donatello only had his welcoming pack on his locker, which was composed of a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a cup, a small piece of soap, a rough towel, a second uniform and the sheets for his bed. Raphael had already made his on the top bunk. He didn't want Donatello to roll and fall or to hurt himself somehow just because of a stupid bed.

"You're sleeping downstairs," Raphael pointed out.

"So it seems but..."

"Did your hear me asking which bunk you wanted?"

"No," Donatello answered carefully.

"So you're sleeping downstairs."

Raphael just had to jump to land on his bed. He removed his shoes and crossed his legs on the covers, marking his territory. Donatello hated this kind of manly demonstration so he rolled his eyes and started making his own bed.

"So, huh, wanna talk about stuff?" Raphael asked awkwardly.

"Sure," Donatello complied. "What stuff?"

"I dunno. Stuff. Like, what did you do at the hospital?"

"Read, most of the time," Donatello answered, folding his sheets. "Oh and I revised some graduate's paper. It's a wonder he achieved med school with his spelling. He also made some mistakes in pretty basic dissolution equations. I'm tempted to go to med school, it doesn't look like it's too complicated."

Raphael blinked and bent over to look at his brother's half back under his bed.

"You want to go to school?"

"Why not?" Donatello responded. "We'll have to do something with our lives and I don't want to end up in a circus. Diplomas'll help. I want plenty of them, a whole wall of them. And a Nobel price. Or two. Two would be nice."

"We don't even know if we'll get out of here," Raphael grunted.

"We will." Donatello took a step back before straightening his back to catch Raphael's gaze. "I see you as a surgeon."

"Shut your mouth," Raphael replied, shoving his foot on Donatello's face.

"You look like Doctor McDreamy with the correct light," his brother insisted, backing off to escape the offender.

"Do I need to get down to make you shut up?"

"It was a compliment," Donatello pleaded. "I would never mock my favorite brother."

"That's it," Raphael decided. He jumped out of bed and caught Donatello in a headlock before his brother could escape, then rubbed his phalanges on his bald head. Donatello was laughing and it felt terribly good to hear him. Unfortunately, a guard passed by and told them to keep quiet. The gate automatically closed a few seconds later and Raphael lost his desire to play. Reality once again hit him in the face. Hard.

"We'll get out of here," Donatello told him with a pat on the shoulder. "We have a strategy."

"A strategy," Raphael snorted, climbing back on his bed to lie on his back.

Donatello approached and put his arms on the mattress.

"It's a good one. I just have to talk to Leo to finalize it. I want his opinion."

"Why didn't you talk about it with him before yelling at him then?" Raphael asked.

"I didn't want to bring up the subject too early," Donatello responded. "I wanted to have a good time with my brothers before talking business."

"And how did that work out, huh?"

"Not great," Donatello admitted, lowering his eyes.

"Don't worry," Raphael reassured him, turning to his side. "He'll come around."

"I know, I know, it's just..."

Sometimes, Donatello needed just a little push to keep talking instead of staying stuck in his head, ruminating his dark thoughts.

"Just?" Raphael pushed.

"Not what I imagined it would be," Donatello continued, unaware of his brother's trick. "Our reunion. I thought it'd be less dolorous."

"Dolorous?" Raphael continued to prompt.

"Hmm," Donatello hummed, retreating back into his mind.

That one, Raphael couldn't repeat it so he had to elaborate a little to pull his brother back out. "Physically or mentally?"

Donatello's red eyes suddenly focused again and he looked at Raphael.

"You beat me up pretty good," he reproached him.

That was it. Donatello wasn't going to follow his thoughts anymore and he wouldn't talk about it again. Raphael had no choice but to act casual and let it drop.

"Yep," he smiled. "You wanted it, we delivered, Donnie-boy."

"I just got out of the hospital."

"You won't guilt-trip me, brother, not today. Now, go to bed, the lights will be off in a minute and the guards'll be on our asses if we don't shut up."

"So you respect rules now," Donatello mocked as he disappeared under Raphael's bed. "What happened to you must have been pretty terrible."

"Yeah, that's called growing up."

Donatello laughed. The corridor went dark but there was still some people whispering here and there. Raphael could hear them all.

"Do we have to take turns?" Donatello asked in a low voice.

"Maybe. Dunno. You wanna?"

"I'd prefer, yes."

"I'll take the first shift then. I'll wake you up later."

"Thanks, Raph. Good night."

"Yeah, good night, Donnie."

Raphael turned on his back and sat up on his bed, facing the grate. He didn't have a good view on the corridor though so he decided to go sit at the desk. Once there, he had a pretty good view of what was happening around. Donatello was already asleep. Ninja training had its advantages. They had learned to sleep on command for a determined number of hours, a restful sleep without dreams, good or bad. They usually relied on that kind of sleep when they had too many thoughts in their heads, which happened a lot lately. Raphael hadn't had a dream for more than two months now and he wondered if he was still capable of dreaming or sleeping naturally.

He would tell that to Sparrow tomorrow, that would make her day. She was always happy to discover their resemblance with humans on the mind side. Must have reassured her or something, he didn't know. She didn't seem impressed by them otherwise. Raphael could bark at her and try to intimidate her by his sheer force, she didn't care. He had stopped after a while, he was wasting his energy for nothing. The shrink wasn't that bad anyway. She was quiet and steady, a rock in the storm, and Raphael needed that, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. Maybe Sparrow was winning because of his weakness for quietude.

Raphael looked at Donatello for a moment then turned his attention back to the corridor. Sparrow had been right. Raphael knew Leonardo would have been irritated at the idea of Sparrow knowing them so well already but he didn't mind it. On the contrary, he was relieved to have her on their side. She wasn't family, nor a friend. He could talk freely to her because it was her job to listen to people and not giving her Goddamn opinion. She wouldn't look down at him when he was angry, nor scold him for being too passionate.

Raphael sighed in the dark, shifting position. Yep, he was in for the rest of his fucking life.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>

**Title:** roller coasters


	5. Interlude: Guerre et paix

**A/N:** The story is based on Mirage Comics volume 1 but is technically an AU as the timeline isn't respected. The events takes place nowadays.  
>This interlude doesn't have a cover so far. I do not intend to draw one, not even under torture.<br>This interlude didn't fit in the plans I made for the chapters and it would have been really awkward to place it into chapter 5 due to yet another ellipse.  
><strong>Beta-reader:<strong> SadoraNortica  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M for adult themes, violence and such.

* * *

><p><strong>Neververse<strong>  
>Interlude<br>_Guerre et paix_

There wasn't much room in the cell Donatello shared with Raphael but they managed to get ready for the day anyway before the official time to wake up. He had done some exercises during his days at the hospital, but still, he had a lot of catching up to do. Raphael had "helped" him by siting on his shoulders during his series of a hundred push-ups. The added weight had been hard to lift but necessary. Donatello was determined to regain all his lost muscular mass by the end of the month. Considering what had happened to him, he knew his brothers would let him rest but Donatello couldn't accept that. He felt like he was failing them by being weak. It wasn't an option.

Once the grates open, they went to the common washroom and Donatello immediately knew that he wouldn't like the showers in prison. They were in two long rows without any curtains or some sort of separation between the men. He didn't mind taking a shower or a bath with his brothers, they actually did that quite often to save water and help brush one's shell, but it was different in prison. There were human males. Everywhere.

"Do we really have to shower?" Donatello asked Raphael who was already removing his clothes and then smirked back at him.

"Yes, we do, 'cause there ain't no bathtub here, Donnie-boy."

Donatello winced. He had made a great deal of having a bathtub last time they settled down somewhere. He had acquired the taste for hot baths when they had first left their lair to stay at April's, after the Mousers' attack, a long time ago. It had become sort of a habit of his. Once a week, Donatello would soak in hot bubbly water with books and snacks until someone came to get him out. More often than one would think possible, his brothers ended up in the bathroom with him, chit-chatting, eating more snacks and so on until Splinter would remind them it was late and they had to sleep eventually.

That wouldn't happen again anytime soon.

"It's not what I meant," Donatello corrected. "Do we have to shower with all of those people around?"

Raphael dropped his pants and put them on the bench.

"They won't look at you. They had time to look at us before and there isn't much to see on a Turtle anyway."

"I don't care if they look at me. I don't want to look at them," Donatello explained. A few dirty looks landed on him and Donatello decided to speak in Japanese to avoid being understood by the other inmates. "I'm not comfortable with the idea of taking a shower surrounded by naked human males."

"Don't drop the soap and you'll be fine," Raphael taunted.

Donatello sighed, annoyed. He loved all his brothers but some of them were an infinite source of frustration. Raphael obviously didn't understand what was going on. Donatello wished Leonardo was there instead of his hot headed brother. Leonardo would have understood immediately.

"They'll be dead before they lay a hand on me," Donatello mumbled.

"Would it help if they were female?" Raphael asked with a smirk.

"That would be worse, actually."

"Hey Greenies, you goin' or what?"

Raphael and Donatello turned as one to the young man covered in tattoos, who had dared to talk to them like that, and he took a step back.

"Greenies?" Raphael repeated in English. "And what are you, huh? You look like a big white worm with your ridiculous flabby belly."

Donatello was already picturing the moment where the guards would come in the washroom and pin Raphael against the wall for his attitude but something entirely different happened. Other inmates laughed at the skinny guy and pushed him at the end of the line. A gigantic white, bald man in his sixties with a belly so big he looked pregnant nodded to Raphael and kept waiting, arms crossed, his pale eyes unfocused. Donatello frowned but didn't have time to express his thoughts because Raphael grabbed him by the shell and dragged him to the showers. Donatello barely had time to remove his uniform and toss it on the bench before hot water hit him.

"What happened?" he asked, switching to German just in case.

"I don't know," Raphael answered, thoughtful. German was the perfect language for his low and guttural voice. He had learned it to annoy Leonardo and it did wonders in that area. "Some of the big shots around here make sure the others aren't a problem for us. This guy, the giant white whale, from what I know he's a serial killer, the kind we'd take down for good reasons, but he's been kinda nice to us so far."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Heck no!" Raphael grunted. "I got nothing to say to that kind of homophobic lunatic."

Besides, you already got one in your phone-book, Donatello thought but he knew better than say something like that out loud about Casey when Raphael was around. They showered quickly and were out of the washroom in five minutes. Donatello wasn't eager to spend more time than that in the room. He didn't like seeing naked humans. They were odd, all flaccid and sluggish, and the worse part about them was their sexual organ just hanging there, out in the world, free to wiggle like a big worm. Donatello shivered just at the thought. He had to take it as part of his training and he'd be fine but he feared showering would never be a pleasant moment for him anymore.

"We should talk to them," Donatello said as they walked through the corridors to get to the cafeteria for breakfast.

"Talk to who?"

"The big shots."

"Not gonna happen."

"Why not? They may be allies."

"They're criminals," Raphael corrected.

"We have killed."

"Not without a reason."

"That doesn't lessen what we did."

Raphael stopped in the corridor and Donatello knew he had struck a nerve. He wished he had been able to have a cup of coffee before the first argument of the day.

"You think we're murderers?" his brother asked coldly.

"Well, technically, we're assassins."

"We're weapons," Raphael said, his eyes hard. "Weapons kill but someone has to use them. We're not like those freakos who killed just because they could or just because they felt like it. We're not like them."

"That is obviously a subject on which we won't agree," Donatello tip-toed to avoid a heated argument so early in the morning, "so I'll just offer you my point of view and shut my big mouth, okay?"

"Can you skip the offering part?"

"No."

Raphael sighed and started walking again. "Fine."

"Isn't it strange that some people here protect us?"

"They don't..."

"It was a rhetorical question," Donatello shushed his brother. "We've been revealed to the world seventy days ago and..."

"You keep track?" Raphael mocked.

"Yes, I do, and it's still my turn to talk. You guys have been here for five weeks and apparently you didn't talk much to the other inmates."

"Mike did."

"Do not interrupt me. Mike did talk to some inmates, yes, but I doubt he had made such good friends that they're now all willing to take our side against the others. They have nothing to gain from this kind of relationship."

"Unless Mike also came out of the closet and gives such fantastic blowjobs that all the big guys' satisfaction now depends solely on him."

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" Donatello was getting fed up with Raphael's interruptions.

"Do what?" Raphael asked innocently. When Donatello returned him a look that clearly stated he couldn't be fooled, Raphael smirked. "Okay, I'll shut up. Go on."

"People in here either ignore us, human-size bipedal, walking and talking turtles, which I believe is hard to do, or make sure nobody disturbs us. Michelangelo's hidden talents can hardly explain everything. So, there might be someone who is giving orders in here or outside and that might be a problem for us. Maybe that person wants to genuinely help us but it's obviously someone with a lot of power to influence criminals. And what can we offer to repay him, hmm?"

Raphael starred at him silently, arms crossed.

"It was a real question this time," Donatello rolled his eyes. "The answer is quite simple and was actually the subject of our recent argument. We're weapons, Raph, we kill people and we're really good at it."

"You think we'll bow to some king of the scum?" Raphael snorted. "Leo'd never tolerate that."

"We might not have a choice."

"Tell you what, Mulder, I don't believe in all your conspiracies bullshit," Raphael responded more seriously. Donatello opened his mouth to give his brother more arguments but Raphael closed it with a finger. "But, you're right on one thing: we should be more careful."

"I didn't say such thing," Donatello corrected, shoving the finger off with the back of his hand.

"But it was implied," Raphael insisted, bumping Donatello's beak. "I was thinking about something like that yesterday. There might be someone around here willing to spend more time in those cozy cells in exchange for some Turtle blood."

"That is not related to what I just said."

"It is. We have to be careful, to stick together, 'cause some shit will fall on us at some point."

Donatello nodded. If there was one thing they were good at, it was getting into trouble. Michelangelo believed they were cursed by the Universe itself and consequently doomed forever. Donatello didn't agree with his brother, mostly because he didn't believe in fate or karmic punishment, but facts were slowly piling up to contradict him. After all, it was hard to explain the sequence of events that had led them to the Triceraton's home world without fate, destiny or an amazing amount of bad luck. Heck, all their lives were nothing but a collection of statistical errors.

"And you have to talk to Leo," Raphael added, dead serious.

"You said he'd come around," Donatello reminded him.

"I did to comfort you, dumbass. Talk to him, today, or I'll make you and it won't be pleasant."

There was nothing Donatello could possibly say to change Raphael's mind at the moment so he nodded and followed his brother to the cafeteria without a word. Michelangelo and Leonardo weren't there yet and only one of them showed up a few minutes later, but only after Donatello had tasted the horrible instant coffee. It was a good thing that Professor Sparrow was coming later that day. She would bring tea and cookies for sure.

"Where's Leo?" Raphael asked as Michelangelo sat down with his tray in hand.

"He's moping or something. You should go talk to him, Donnie, but careful 'cause your bride is in a bad mood."

"My bride?" Donatello repeated, uncomfortable.

Michelangelo gulped his quarter of orange and chewed it a few seconds, detailing his brother. It didn't help Donatello to act casual. He cleared his throat and stood up, abandoning his breakfast – he wasn't hungry anymore anyway.

"I'm going to deal with that right now," he declared. "I don't like to waste food so feel free to finish... that. Whatever it's called."

"You have to eat something eventually, Don," Raphael reminded him.

"I'll think about it," Donatello promised, already walking away.

Raphael and Michelangelo had given him a tour the day before so it didn't take long for Donatello to find the B block. Once there, he just had to follow Leonardo's scent and he found him sitting on his bed, a book in hand. Donatello didn't enter the cell, even though it was open. He awaited his brother's approval before doing so but he eventually cleared his throat after a few minutes of obvious ignoring.

"What do you want?" Leonardo asked, on guard.

"Just to talk," Donatello answered. "May I come in?"

Leonardo gave him a cold look for a moment before nodding. Donatello entered the familiar cell and took the time to look around. Michelangelo had invaded the desk and a good part of the wall with his novel projects. Leonardo had hung up some of Shadow's drawings on the opposite wall, under Michelangelo's top bunk. Other than that, the cell looked exactly like his.

Donatello wasn't sure if he was allowed to sit on the bed, next to Leonardo. Usually, he wouldn't have hesitated a second but the situation required some precautions. He couldn't allow himself that sort of proximity right now, even if he wanted it badly. Donatello had missed Leonardo more than Raphael and Michelangelo and he longed for the moment he could simply enjoy his best friend's presence like he used to but it wasn't for now. They had more pressing matters to deal with. Right now, they needed to be a leader and his second discussing their next movements. They would be brothers later. Donatello sat on the steel stool at the desk and was careful to keep his back straight to avoid putting pressure on his shell. It wasn't as solid as before, not yet.

"We have a strategy," Donatello started. Leonardo nodded, authorizing him to continue. "As you already know, we will face a trial to determine our level of conscientiousness and dangerousness, and our ability to live among people." Leonardo nodded again. Donatello kept looking at him straight in the eyes. "We cannot deny that we have killed and we won't because it will be held against us, no matter what. We don't know who will be our enemies in that court but we can assume the Foot will be represented there. Considering the trap we fell into, it's quite obvious."

"We don't know who set that trap," Leonardo reminded him.

"It doesn't matter. People will know we have killed. We carried weapons with us when we got arrested and it wasn't ornamental."

Leonardo had the smallest smile and it lifted a part of the weight from Donatello's heart.

"So, we have killed."

"Yes, and we have to charge Splinter with the responsibility of those we have killed," Donatello said and he saw Leonardo lose his shy smile. He knew his brother had come to the same conclusion. "Believe me, Leonardo, I don't like it either," Donatello insured. "You know my position about killing an enemy: avoid if possible. But, even if someone ordered me to do it, it's still my action, my decision. I can refuse to obey at any given time, after all, even if there would be consequences for my brothers. You never forced me to kill, nor did Splinter, but I had orders nonetheless. We were raised and trained to avenge Hamato Yoshi by killing the Shredder, Oroku Saki. We were tools."

"I see where you're going," Leonardo whispered.

"We mostly killed Foot soldiers," Donatello continued, happy to move on, "and we can argue we had orders. But we will have to deny the other accusations of murder, even when we only defended ourselves. I believe there won't be many cases like that. People disappear every day in New York and some of those murders were committed in Massachusetts anyway. We have to prepare for it nonetheless. And we have to prove we are not a menace for humans. We did good, Leonardo, and we have to use that fact."

"And how can you prove that?" Leonardo asked.

"Miller and Wolfe are going to dig into the NYPD archives to find cases we were involved in."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"That's a pretty stupid idea coming from you."

"I'm open to any suggestion," Donatello countered. Leonardo winced and Donatello regretted his words. He hadn't meant to provoke him. "I really am, Leonardo," Donatello pleaded. "I've searched for solutions to our problem ever since I woke up from the coma and..."

"The coma?" Leonardo interrupted him, angry again. "You were in a coma and I just learn that now? Are you fucking kidding me, Donnie?"

"Like I told you yesterday," Donatello tried to calm him, "it would have been counterproductive to tell you, even dangerous for our future."

"I am supposed to take care of you guys," Leonardo roared, standing up, "and I can't do it if I don't have the proper information! Is it so hard to understand, dammit?"

"My role as your second is to make sure you don't do anything stupid," Donatello stated coldly.

"Your role is to support me and my decisions."

"That is not what Splinter asked me to do."

Leonardo looked hurt at the moment and Donatello regretted what he just said in the heat of the moment. His meetings with Splinter were as secret as his brothers'. There were subjects they could discuss only with their master and they all had special orders. When the time had come to define who would lead the team, Splinter had chosen Leonardo for his loyalty, his determination and his cool head. Donatello had been given the role of second for his intelligence and his complementary point of view. Splinter also had asked him to keep an eye on Leonardo and to make sure the mission would be carried on. Leonardo could, sometimes, get a little too excited and want to show off. It could compromise the mission, therefor Donatello had to be the one to remind Leonardo what he had to do. Until now, he never had revealed that secondary command to his oblivious brother. Donatello regretted doing it. It wasn't the proper time to do it, sure, but the look of total betrayal on Leonardo's face was way worse than his bad timing.

He had to do something to change that, to focus Leonardo on something else. That would be better than to see him hurt.

"There isn't much you have to know about my time at the hospital, actually," Donatello sighed. "I had a high fever when I arrived and I was delirious. They didn't know if I could tolerate any anesthetic so they operated while I was still conscious. Well, as much as possible at that moment. But I had morphine so it was okay. I remember it hurt a lot and people moving around me while I was attached to the operation table but it's unclear. I don't really want to remember anyway. That must have been a bloody Hell." Donatello had a small smile but his joke didn't reach Leonardo, still standing in front of him, fists clenched. "I lost consciousness at some point, I don't know when, and Professor Sparrow told me I woke up six days later. My back was still open but cleaned, with no sign of infection. The doctors told me about their plan to replace my bones with the foam on a titanium frame and I said yes because it was the fastest way to get out of there and back to you." Donatello fixed his eyes on the ground, incapable of looking at Leonardo anymore. "I'd be lying if I were to tell you I didn't enjoy my time at the hospital. It was like Heaven on Earth after Saint Cecile. People cared, they were nice to me, I could read, and talk with whoever came into my room. But I still longed for the moment I'd be with you, brother. You were the only reason I didn't give up. I'd like you to know that because it's important."

Donatello's throat was so tight it hurt. He had said too much from his point of view but his brother didn't have a clue of the true meaning of his words. Even if his secret was most likely still safe, Donatello couldn't neglect the slight chances of Leonardo understanding the subtext. He feared it. It wasn't a good time to reveal such a secret. They had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Leonardo sighed and made the few steps between them to put his hand on his brother's shoulder. Donatello froze, unsure of what Leonardo was going to do. He also felt trapped between his brother and the desk, in a position of weakness. He hated that.

"I'm sorry, Donatello," Leonardo said softly. He came closer and embraced a very tensed Donatello carefully. "I was so scared," he whispered.

"I was scared too," Donatello confessed and he hugged his brother back, inhaling his scent and regretting the thin layer of the uniform keeping him away from the rough skin of the plastron. They liked physical contact. Most of the time, it was expressed with a punch or a flick, but they also shared more tender contacts, in front of the television or when Splinter wasn't around. Those moments were rare though, therefor even more precious. "I feared the infection had spread beyond possible healing, even with medical assistance."

"You said yesterday they had to remove muscles, right?" Leonardo asked, his fingers tracing soothing circles on Donatello's shell. Those gave him a little shiver every time they encountered his scars.

"Hmm, a little, nothing too dramatic. It grew back within a month anyway. Thank you, mutagen."

"Remember that leech Raph got back in Northampton?"

"How can I forget that?" Donatello mumbled. The leech had feed itself on Raphael's blood, drinking up the mutagen too. It had become a fantastic monster while Raphael had regressed to a simple turtle. It had been as if they had lost a brother for a while and the experience had been truly terrifying. Donatello had been prepared to see his brothers die but not being reduced to a dumb pet turtle.

"Did you experience the same thing?"

"I didn't lose enough blood for that, no," Donatello explained. "From what the doctors told me, after I woke up, they couldn't transfuse human blood to me during the operation, obviously, so they stocked what they could in jars while they were cleaning the infection and reinjected me with that blood later. They filtered it but apparently the mutagen stuck to the erythrocytes. That actually confirms my theory about the mutagen, kinda. I believe this substance is attached to our tissue on a molecular level. Basically, you can't squeeze a Turtle to obtain mutagen. All you'd get would be turtle juice with little pieces floating in it."

"Great news," Leonardo snorted and Donatello couldn't help his smile.

"It is, actually. I always feared a direct contact between our blood and April's but I now think it wouldn't do much damage to her. I think our cells would be treated like a normal external corps to eradicate like any other. But I'd have to do some tests to be sure."

"I doubt experimenting on our fellow inmates is appropriate."

Donatello laughed a little, enjoying the solid presence of his brother in his arms. He had missed Leonardo's wicked sense of humor.

"Indeed, but that will be for later, once we're out of here."

Leonardo straightened his back and released Donatello to take a few steps back. Bonding time was over, they had to talk seriously again.

"So, this strategy of yours," Leonardo resumed, "it's basically showing to the world we're not that bad and that we were under the influence of an evil mastermind, correct?"

"Something like that, yes," Donatello confirmed. "And it would be better if we never mention that Master Splinter is not human either."

"Yeah, I bet. And after?"

"After the trial? I doubt we'll be free to do whatever we want from there. Most likely, we will be under heavy surveillance for some time, some sort of probation."

"And we'll have to be nice and quiet," Leonardo sighed.

"Yep. That will be hard, considering trouble loves us," Donatello added. "I wouldn't be surprised if there's an alien invasion during our probation." Leonardo rolled his eyes, agreeing with Donatello who smiled back. "But more trivial opponents have higher chances to fall upon us. You helped Lieutenant Miller by giving him information on the Foot, they're going to be mad, and not everybody is happy knowing we exist."

"Yay, Turtles killers," Leonardo mocked, sitting on his bed. "We have to make sure we can defend ourselves against such threats."

"Yes," Donatello nodded. "We might need to start being more careful now, as Raphael suggested. He thinks we're in danger, that some people here might try to hurt us in exchange for something."

"What do you think about that theory?"

"It's possible," Donatello agreed. "But I also think something bigger is already in place. It seems some people make sure we're not disrupted by any potential trouble."

"I thought nobody dared to approach us," Leonardo admitted, "and that someone was responsible for that. My money was on the direction of the prison though."

"Also possible. Everything is, at this point."

"Great. I'll take the alien invasion then," Leonardo joked. At least, he would know what to do face to face with Triceratons. He didn't say it but Donatello knew Leonardo was thinking it. He thought it too. Donatello would have welcomed to opportunity to solve this problem with a fight. It wouldn't be their first time in an arena.

"So," Donatello cleared his throat, "Raph and Mike gave me a tour of the prison yesterday after dinner but I didn't get the chance to have your point of view. Care to enlighten me, brother?"

"Sure," Leonardo smiled. He stood up and gave a hand to Donatello to help him in getting up. Excuses weren't necessary between them. Their little bicker was now ancient history and they had more important matters to focus on. Donatello followed Leonardo in the corridor, already enjoying his diatribes about the security system and the flagrant incompetence of the guards. His brother's confidence made Donatello smile. Some things weren't meant to be changed.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes<strong>  
>For the leech, see TMNT vol1 chapter 24 to 26, "The River"<br>For the events leading to the Triceratons' home world, see TMNT vol1 chapter 2 to 7.

**Title:** "war and peace". It's actually the French title of Léon Tolstoï's "_War and Peace_" novel.


End file.
